


The Dawning

by Mendeia



Series: Fairytale Hotdish [3]
Category: Mighty Max
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fairy Tale Retellings, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:52:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6797383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mendeia/pseuds/Mendeia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a bespelled slave to Skullmaster, Norman embarks upon an adventure that may lead him to the key to his freedom - and his revenge. But what he cannot anticipate is the role of the young peasant boy named Max he meets along the way...and the destiny they will uncover together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Here we are continuing my tradition of mixing my favorite fandoms with fairytales. This one is, if you can't tell, Mighty Max and Cinderella, which my brain also calls "Sworderella." Because that's how my brain goes sometimes.
> 
> As with all the rest of my fairytale remixes, you don't need any prior knowledge of Mighty Max for this one, but it's certainly more fun if you have it! Also, as an alternate telling of Cinderella and Mighty Max, this story has no relation to my Fate is a Gift series.
> 
> I think that's all for now.
> 
> Enjoy!

Once upon a time, in a far distant land, a great warrior led a band of honorable fighters in the defense of those who could not protect themselves. Many small villages were protected under the sheltering shadow of the Norn banner, and the warrior who led the army and protected the people was wise and fair.

As such, however, he was bound the by laws of honor to accept a challenge issued by any opponent. For many years, he successfully defended his leadership over the Norns and his protection of the peoples who lived upon their lands. But one day came a warrior unlike any seen before, a vile, fiendish creature who called himself Skullmaster. Skullmaster issued the challenge and, to the horror of the Norns, defeated his opponent in single combat, killing him with the final blow.

As per the laws of honor, the Norns and their lands became Skullmaster's, along with all that had been in the defeated leader's possession. Included in the spoils was the leader's young son, a boy called Norman.

Skullmaster was wise in the ways of the old magic, and he had some gift for foresight and prophecy. Skullmaster saw in Norman's eyes no power that might ever rival his own, but he sensed something unusual in the boy, something deep and true. Thus, making use of his ancient ways, he bound the boy to servitude, taking ownership of him through a magical means more potent than any slaver's collar and whip.

With the sword of Norman's father, Skullmaster gained control over the boy in the form of an innate ability to command him such that Norman could not refuse any order given.

His triumph assured, Skullmaster bade the Norns to abandon their ancestral lands and move to Skullmaster's own homelands amidst the fiery Skull Mountains, a hellish place populated by demons and monsters. Many of the Norns did not survive the journey, and many more perished in the first years living in Skullmaster's domain. But Norman, protected from the heat and the monsters by his unwilling pact with Skullmaster, was spared.

For twenty years, Norman lived under the harsh rule of Skullmaster in the Skull Mountains. He was mostly bade act as Skullmaster's valet and servant, but as he grew in age and size, he was also ordered to learn combat at the hands of Skullmaster's own men-at-arms. After all, as Norman could never act against Skullmaster under the magic that bound him, he could be refined into an unquestionably loyal bodyguard and protector.

Norman did not hesitate to study the arts of combat, and indeed, as his body grew strong and swift, his passion grew as well. Skullmaster was impressed by the boy's competence and allowed him great latitude in studying from any accomplished warrior within his lands.

Skullmaster was no fool, and so knew that Norman trained as ardently as he did not out of any sense of duty or loyalty, but in the hopes of one day revenging himself upon his master. But the magic that bound Norman was sound, and Skullmaster feared not its failure. So he indulged the boy's fury and his talent.

And Norman, for his part, accepted the opportunity that it was and continued to wait.

In the winter Norman achieved thirty years of age, a message arrived in the palace of the Skull Mountains. Skullmaster read it before his court at that evening's meal.

"The Lady-Queen Mujaji sends forth a challenge to any able warriors. She invokes The Dawning to begin on the Spring Equinox. At the end of the three days of challenge, any who have survived The Dawning may present themselves as Heir to her Dominion."

Norman, seated not at the table but along the walls in the far corner, whispered to the nearest serving-man, a half-demon twice Norman's age.

"What does this mean?"

The half-demon curled his lip at Norman's impudence, but he did not bespeak the master's own bodyguard and servitor.

"The Dawning is an ancient combat ritual wherein a monster is summoned from the nether realms known as the Conqueror. Any warrior may choose to enter into combat with it on the first day, and those who survive must continue to battle it on the second and third day. Any who flee will be instantly hunted and killed by the Conqueror."

"That's all? Just survive?" Norman asked.

The servant glared at him. "That, pitiful human, is enough. No warrior has ever defeated the Conqueror in centuries of Dawning challenges. But a few have survived the gauntlet to the end."

"Norman!"

Norman rose at Skullmaster's sharp command, inclining his head but otherwise remaining silent.

"Go to my chambers and pack my belongings for a long journey. We will depart for The Dawning at midday tomorrow."

Norman nodded and moved away to obey without question. As he exited the banquet hall, he heard one of Skullmaster's two lieutenants, a blood-skinned demon lacking in social graces as well as any sort of keen intellect named Warmonger, ask, "Master? Why bother attending such an event when we could just take Mujaji's land for our own?"

Norman paused to listen; he could hear the smile in Skullmaster's answer. "Because what the Lady-Queen Mujaji possesses may be far more valuable than a mere kingdom."

"But master," spoke the other lieutenant, a lava demon with a temper to match called Lavalord, "most who enter The Dawning are defeated and killed. Surely you would not take such a risk."

Norman smirked. Lavalord was shrewd enough to know that Skullmaster would never send either of his lieutenants into battle on his behalf, as he could not ensure their compliance should they win the tournament. Not that Skullmaster would send them, anyway. Lavalord was mediocre at best in the arts of combat - his real strength being his strategic knowledge and mechanical prowess - and Warmonger, while a formidable opponent, was foolish and weak of heart.

"Of course not," Skullmaster answered. "While I do not doubt I could endure The Dawning, I do not wish to reveal myself just yet. There may be others, old _acquaintances_ , who will be watching for me."

"You could send Norman," Warmonger suggested. Norman silently reminded himself to hit Warmonger harder than usual the next time they sparred together.

"He is not skilled enough to survive, and I have a more important use for him," Skullmaster dismissed the idea. "But if we are present for The Dawning, we may yet find an opportunity for me to acquire what I seek."

As the table talk turned towards the upcoming journey, Norman slipped down the corridor to complete the task set to him. But he made a silent vow.

_Whatever Skullmaster is planning for this innocent land free from him, I will prevent. Even if it costs me my life and honor, I will never permit Skullmaster to hurt another innocent soul. I swear it on my father's grave._

-==OOO==-

The journey to the land of the Lady-Queen Mujaji was long and arduous, but Norman was so relieved to be free of the Skull Mountains and back to where the sky was not clogged with smoke and the earth was not fire-reddened, he little cared.

While Skullmaster rode at the head of their column on a monstrous black horse-demon, Lavalord and Warmonger at his side, Norman was regulated to the back of the company as rear-guard. Each night they stopped, he was obliged to construct the elaborate tents for Skullmaster and both his lieutenants before standing guard before them. As often as not, he was not dismissed until there were only scrapings left from the evening meal and it was too dark to build his own tent.

But Norman was grateful for the clear stars above, and even in rain, would rather have taken shelter under a tree and slept in the wet than be denied the feel of clean air not burdened with sulphur.

The lands beyond the Skull Mountains, though cool with winter, were not like those Norman remembered from his childhood in the Norn lands. Here even winter was mild and many trees remained green and grasses stayed soft. There was less bounty given by the land, but the absence of snow or biting cold more than made up for it throughout the long journey. By the time they arrived in the kingdom of the Lady-Queen Mujaji, though it were two weeks yet to the Spring Equinox, it was summer-warm already and life abounded.

Upon arrival in the main city of Intuition, Skullmaster went alone into a building that flew a flag showing a blood-red dragon. When he emerged, he carried the keys to a city estate not far from the city's bustling center. Skullmaster gave orders that half his followers should camp beyond the walls of the city and wait for his instructions; the rest, with Norman amongst them, would make the estate their new home.

It would have been a grand house if it had been better kept. The broad foyer and sitting room and fine banquet hall and were all very nice with accents in marble and gold, but the kitchens were layered in dirt and dust. The stables had not been swept in decades, though they contained a great deal of space in the loft for most of those who remained with Skullmaster's party.

But Warmonger looked over the holdings and smiled darkly at Norman. "Looks like you'll be stuck with us in the house, boy."

Norman didn't bother rising to the taunt. He'd already noticed that the house had only three proper bedrooms. But it did have a drafty, cramped attic, barely large enough for Norman himself to stand up straight and certainly impossible to share. However, it was private and away from prying eyes, and that made it worth far more than the grand chamber in which he installed Skullmaster's belongings. Besides himself, the cook and a few other slaves had accompanied them to the house, so Norman knew he need not be responsible for all the work alone.

But he knew, too, he would have most of it - and certainly the worst of it.

"Norman!"

Norman responded to the roar by following it to where Skullmaster was settling his magical items in the bedroom he would inhabit; it was not a task he ever delegated to anyone, even Norman. They all came out of the same heavy black chest in which Norman knew Skullmaster kept the sword he had taken from the Norns, from Norman's own father.

As a child, only once had Norman dared to try to open the chest to lay eyes on his father's only legacy; he had paid for his trespassing with a beating that had nearly killed him.

Norman did not announce his presence at the door. In twenty years, he had avoided speaking to Skullmaster whenever possible. Because to speak to his father's murderer was to call him "master" and Norman would rather die.

"Go to the market. I want a feast tonight. See to it."

Norman inclined his head and left. On his way out of the estate, he made certain to stop and find the cook to alert him; as always, he was regarded with hostility by the demonic staff under Skullmaster. But that hadn't troubled him almost since his arrival in the Skull Mountains. As little as they thought of him, he thought infinitely less of them, after all.

The city of Intuition was lovely and Norman was content walking down the hill towards the busier areas. The streets were broad and lined with a colorful array of houses and shops. Gardens grew fragrant flowers and herbs, and even the cobblestones were a rich, warm hue in the bright sunlight.

Norman knew he looked terribly out of place in his unrelieved black clothing, much of which was worn and threadbare and faded at the seams. In a rainbow world, he was like a single thundercloud stomping along. And being easily head and shoulders taller than the tallest person he could see, Norman was certainly noticeable.

However, in spite of his obvious differences, the shopkeepers treated him with cool efficiency and little wariness. Norman acquired a huge basket that could be worn on the back and loaded it with the foods he knew the cook could actually prepare halfway-decently. While his own mouth watered at some of the variety on offer, particularly the succulent scent of tender, roasted meat from one of the busiest stalls, he kept to the fare more like that from the Skull Mountains.

One shopkeeper casually mentioned that the type of hard, gristle-ridden meat Norman ordered was usually kept only for working dogs, and Norman could only heartily agree that it was better suited to low beasts than men. He bought great haunches of it for Skullmaster and his demons and laughed privately when none could see.

Finally finished and unbothered under a load that would have any lesser human straining, he turned from the market to go back to the estate. It was along a narrower lane that he heard the shouting.

"For the last time, I said hand it over!" grated a low voice.

"And for the last time, I said no way!" The spirited reply was young and filled with bravado.

"You're going to be sorry, you little brat!"

At the sound of flesh hitting flesh, Norman found himself sprinting down the alley to one side where the voices originated. He made a tight turn and appeared in a dingy clearing between some close-in buildings. Four rough-looking individuals had gathered around a much younger fifth who was just getting up from the ground with a face flushing from a recent blow.

The one who had obviously dealt the strike looked up at Norman and sneered, "This isn't your business, barbarian."

"It is now," Norman let himself smile a little. "Let's dance."

The four ruffians immediately abandoned their prey and dove for Norman.

One of them didn't make it.

"Ooof!"

The kid at the middle of the fight looked up with a wry grin as he pulled back his leg from where he'd tripped one. "Sorry about that! Except, oh, wait. I'm not sorry!"

Norman couldn't help but appreciate the kid's guts, but he was more focused on the three before him. They weren't particularly skilled, but they were armed and armored and had numbers on their side.

"You know," the kid called as he grabbed a long piece of wood from a pile of refuse, "I bet if there were eight of you against him, it would be fair. Maybe nine. Ten at most for sure."

Norman lashed out with one hand and shoved the nearest attacker into the wall hard enough to leave an imprint on the bricks.

He looked over at the kid and winked. "Make it twenty and we're talking."

The remaining two ruffians dove for Norman simultaneously. One of them only managed a single swing before the kid got up behind him and hit him soundly with the length of wood, leaving the leader for Norman.

Without breaking a sweat, Norman neatly dislocated the man's arm.

"Now," Norman looked down at the attacker gone pale from pain, "I think you owe the kid an apology."

The other three bolted as soon as they collected their wits.

The kid shouted after them, "Serves you right, you jerks! That's what you get when you mess with me!"

Norman loomed over his opponent and spun him around. "Apologize."

The kid presented himself to the man who had hit him, hands on his hips and flashing a jaunty, laughing smile.

"You are dead meat when I get my hands on you!" the goon menaced. "You'll be sorry you ever-"

That was as far as he got. Norman hefted him by his belt and threw him bodily after his retreating brethren, hitting them just as they were about to leave the alleyway, and all four went down and did not rise.

Norman turned to the boy.

He was thin as a stick and wore the clothing of a peasant - brown and tattered and patched. But his blue eyes were clear and his bright blond hair shone like the sun.

The kid, however, backed up carefully from his rescuer. "Thanks, I guess." He seemed to grow nervous. "But, uh, I could have handled it. I know the ancient art of, uh, Foo-Doo. Yeah, and I can rip out your eyes and show them to you before you die!"

Norman laughed. "But if you rip out my eyes, how can you show me anything?"

The kid blinked. Then he laughed too. "Okay. You got me." But his posture didn't relax. "You're not gonna...you know?"

Norman frowned. "No. I don't know."

"Oh." The kid rubbed his hands together absently. "They say, uh, people who, uh, have _that_ are really bad news. Eat your babies and suck out your brains kind of bad."

Norman looked down at himself to where the kid's eyes had fallen. "Ah."

The heavy basket of food had shifted its weight during the brief skirmish, and one of the straps that held it on Norman's shoulders had pulled until it ripped a tear in the thin fabric of his shirt. Through the hole, the mark of Skullmaster was visible where it had been branded on Norman's chest as if he were cattle when he had been a child.

"Are you a demon?" the kid asked.

"No," Norman shook his head. But between the mark, his ratty clothing, his matted beard, and the fact that his hair always hung in long, stringy clumps across his face probably explained some things. The shopkeepers would have seen a barbarian just as the ruffians had, but the kid had spotted the mark that portended something so much worse.

Seeing the kid was still nervous, Norman held out a hand. "I'm Norman. I'm a slave under Skullmaster of the Skull Mountains. But I'm a Norn."

Immediately the kid's face softened with understanding and regret. "Sorry to hear it," he said sincerely, stepping closer again. "And, uh, thanks for saving me. Especially after I thought you were a demon." He put his tiny hand in Norman's huge one and shook as best he could. "I'm Max."

"What did those guys want with you?" Norman asked.

Max shrugged flippantly, but his eyes glowed absolutely rascally. "Nothing much. Just a ticket to be in the stands for The Dawning."

Norman raised an eyebrow. He had some idea of how much a treasure of that sort would be worth.

Max coughed. "It's, uh, possible I mentioned it to my friends while I was running errands."

A thought struck Norman. "They wanted to take it from you. Did you steal it from them?"

"No!" Max's face went angrily indignant. "It's mine!" Then, his eyes sliding away, "It would have been my mom's."

Norman felt a pang. He knew those hunched shoulders, that sideways look of fragile defiance. He'd worn them himself for many years. Rather than push Max to say more, he simply nodded.

"Where're you headed?" he asked. "I'll keep you company."

Max turned back and managed a jaunty smile. "Thanks, but I better get going. Plus, won't you be late getting back to Skullface or whoever he is?"

Norman snorted. "No one will notice if I am late. No one ever notices me."

"Oh, trust me, big guy. If you wander around the city looking like your head confused a bramblebush for hair, somebody's gonna notice. On the plus side, with everybody in the Seven Lands coming in for The Dawning, you're not even the worst we've seen."

Max started towards the alleyway that led to the street but turned back and ran an appraising eye over Norman. "You know, there's a barber down Mayberry who owes me a favor, and I mean, you _did_ help me out before I got clobbered. He can probably do something about that mess if you want."

Norman hadn't thought much about his appearance for the last two decades, but he vividly recalled his own father's well-groomed beard and hair.

Before he could answer, Max continued, "Look, tell you what. Meet me tomorrow outside the baker's shop at the corner of the market nearest the river and we'll go together. I'll be there all morning. Okay? See you then!"

And the boy flashed him a last impish grin and darted down the alleyway. Norman followed a little belatedly, but by the time he reached the street, the blond head was lost in the crowd.

Norman looked after the boy for only a moment before turning back up the hill to the estate.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I have much to say at this point. Except, yeah. Ha ha Marisa. Gotcha.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Enjoy!

That night, while the members of Skullmaster's party feasted, those that were not slaves nor servants anyway, Norman went out to the clear area behind the stables.

Even long past full nightfall, he trained in every combat art he knew, pushing his body to its absolute limit and beyond. He did not fear angering his master by failing to be within earshot – Skullmaster need but whisper Norman's name and the magical pact that bound him to servitude would compel him to answer.

Norman had long been grateful for the amount of leniency that was present in the magical binding. He could not refuse any direct order given by Skullmaster, and he was physically unable to harm him in any way (and indeed he had tried quite viciously as a child, but his body simply refused to obey). But he had learned that unless Skullmaster's orders were specific, the means by which Norman followed them was largely up to himself.

Additionally, if he had not been given an order, he could do as he wished within certain boundaries. Norman had learned he could not stray more than a few leagues from Skullmaster at any time or his body would turn back of its own accord – and it was rather painful when he drew near the limit of that tether.

And, of course, he could not resist the few standing orders he had been given, mainly concerned with protecting Skullmaster.

Once, when he had been but thirteen, one of the members of Skullmaster's demonic court thought to assassinate the master and take his place. Norman had been down in the kitchens at the time but a compulsion had driven him into the banquet hall where he physically got between Skullmaster and his would-be murderer with nothing in his hands but a serving tray. However, the action had alerted the other guards to Skullmaster's peril and they had quickly dispatched the traitor.

That day, Skullmaster had given Norman an order to become the finest warrior in the Skull Mountains such that he could defend his master at any time. It was the only order Skullmaster had ever given with which Norman agreed wholeheartedly.

So Norman was able to practice his arts and strengthen his body without fear of displeasing his master, not that Norman much cared if Skullmaster was happy or not. Twenty years had grown nothing but contempt and rage in his heart for the one who had murdered his father and stolen his life and his freedom. But it served him better if Skullmaster thought him obedient if not loyal (Skullmaster was not such a fool to believe that his hostage and slave was a willing participant in any of his duties) because a complacent Skullmaster was more willing to let Norman have time to himself.

Norman trained until the moon hung high in the sky. Then, his body aching with the pleasant assurance he had done well, he returned to the house. On silent feet, Norman inspected the estate. Some of the more obnoxious demons had fallen asleep in the banquet hall, either rudely at the table itself or slightly less rudely in a corner of the chamber. Lavalord and Warmonger had retired to the pair of guest rooms they had claimed, and from the loud snores audible in the hallway, were apparently well-sated. But light shone from under the door to Skullmaster's own room.

Norman would not have disturbed him, but Skullmaster spoke his name. "Norman. Enter."

Norman did as ordered. He was vaguely pleased that he bore the heavy sweat of his work and his clothing was more dirty and patched than ever. Most demons who offended Skullmaster's nose or eyes with their ill-kempt personages paid for it brutally. But Norman had only the clothing Skullmaster gave him, and he had not given any in more than a year. Norman therefore hoped he smelled particularly foully just to annoy his master.

Skullmaster looked at him from where he had sat at a desk, a book open before him.

"You have kept up your fighting."

Norman nodded once.

"Good. I have a mission for you, boy."

Norman _hated_ it that Skullmaster still called him that, but he did not so much as flinch.

"For the remaining two weeks before The Dawning, I wish you to thoroughly explore the city and its inhabitants. Before the Equinox, it is necessary that you commit to memory every particular that I might need to know. Not just the streets and overall layout, but where people of significance live and work. I want to know the comings and goings of every possible entrant into The Dawning that you might be able to lead me to them when the time comes.

"That and continuing your combat training are your primary responsibilities for the duration of our time here. If I see you about the house for any length of time during which you are not training or sleeping, you will be punished. Do you understand me?"

Norman felt the slightest shiver over his spine as the pact took hold between them. He raised his chin and nodded once.

"Good. Then you are dismissed."

Norman withdrew and shut the door behind him. He waited until he was up in the attic to smile.

_It has been twenty years since I could so freely enjoy a world not of fire and sulfurous stone. And to remain out-of-doors and away from you? Yes. Gladly._

-==OOO==-

In the morning, Norman rose at dawn. He took some provisions for himself from the stores in the pantry and left the house before any but the other slaves had risen. The warm sunlight and the breaking clear day raised his spirits considerably. Yes, of course he would gather the intelligence required, and he was quite sure it would be put to a darkly nefarious use, but he could not worry about that yet. For once, he could enjoy himself with the illusion of freedom.

Norman decided it was too early in the day to expect Max to be awake yet as he recalled being a boy himself and hating rising at dawn, so instead he walked the streets closest to the borrowed estate for several hours until he could have walked them blind. Along the way, he encountered several other servants and slaves under Skullmaster, all of whom scurried along as if set specific errands. Norman knew Skullmaster well enough to guess that they had particular targets to shadow and observe, and that Skullmaster himself would be the only one to connect the knowledge each returned with his plans for whatever it was he sought here.

Norman waved mockingly at those demons and half-demons he particularly hated, and they growled in return. He knew he was not the only one grateful to be outside, but the others had no such freedom to wander and resented him for it.

When the sun had risen high enough to dry any nighttime dew and heat the land, Norman made his way to the appointed bakery.

After his appearance frightened off a child who had clearly come to the bakery to buy a treat for herself, Norman slid around the side of the building that he might wait in concealment for Max to arrive. While there, he found he could hear into the kitchen behind the store.

"It's not fair!" a girl's voice was upraised. "I want to read, but _I_ have to work in the shop. Why doesn't Max? Why can't _he_ work and let me get back to studying?"

"Darling, we've already discussed this. I'll not do it again," returned a firm, matronly voice.

"Yeah, Bea. Give it a rest," came a boy's voice.

"It's not that I don't feel bad for him. I do! But it isn't fair."

"Beatrice, _fair_ would be that boy still having a mother at all. _Fair_ would be your father returning from the coast to help me. But I need as many hands in the bakery as I can get. And as you have yet to bake bread without burning it while you lose yourself in your books, you cannot be trusted back here. At least your brother can do that much while you help me up front. And Max has not learned to do either and I will not burden him when he has other concerns."

"Other concerns? His mom died _months_ ago! I need to complete my reading _now_!"

"You read too much," the boy said teasingly.

"Enough, Beatrice."

"But mother!"

The woman's voice was unwavering. "I know you wish to apply to study at the Academy, my girl. And you shall. But not right now. And that is final."

Suddenly the door nearest Norman opened and Max emerged. His shoulders were slumped and his hands were deep in his pockets. He looked up, white-faced, and clearly saw that Norman had overheard.

Max started to walk away and Norman fell in behind him.

After a few streets had passed, Max spoke quietly. "They don't know that I can hear them arguing. The room I'm sleeping in is on the other side of the big fireplace, so I think they think the brick blocks the sounds. But it doesn't."

Norman waited.

Max continued. "Bea and Felix and me have been friends since I came here with mom. When...when mom died over the winter, their family took me in. I don't have anywhere else to go. And I know I should be helping out more. It's so busy in the shop with everybody coming into town for The Dawning. But...it feels like I'm going to crawl out of my skin if I stay there too long. I don't know why."

He huffed a laugh. "Bea's not really that mean, not usually. But she's really smart and she wants to go to the Academy and be a scribe or a scholar, like my mom."

He looked up at Norman with the light of pride in his eyes. "Mom was actually a scribe for Lady-Queen Mujaji. She even took me to the palace sometimes to visit. Bea's always wanted to be just like her. I think she's mad at me halfway because she's still sad about my mom."

Norman rested one of his huge hands on the boy's narrow shoulder. "I understand."

Max sighed. "I bet you do. Nobody human becomes a slave to somebody like that ugly Boneface without something going pretty wrong."

Norman nodded. "He killed my father."

Max flinched. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry about your mom," Norman replied. Then he asked, "Do you have no other family? No father to take you instead?"

Max shook his head. "No. I'm an orphan. Mom isn't...wasn't...my real mother. But she raised me and brought me to live here. I don't remember my parents, just the people who found me and gave me to her."

Norman gave the shoulder under his hand a slight squeeze. "They chose well for you, and she must have been a good person to have raised you so well."

Max's face lost some of its paleness and he couldn't help but warm under the compliment. With that infusion of hope, he straightened up and made a proper smile.

"Well, nobody's going to think I'm worth much if I let you wander around looking like you do. Let's see what we can make out of that briar patch you call hair."

Then he paused. "I completely forgot! Here."

Norman had noticed the lumpy bag Max was carrying, and from this the boy drew a round yellow circle of fabric. He also pulled out a pair of long, sturdy pants in a dark olive-green color. He handed them over while his words tumbled together almost nervously.

"I thought the patch would help cover up the hole in your shirt so nobody else can see the mark. I'm not much good at sewing but I'll give it my best while we have the barber fix your hair. And I found these pants a long time ago in a pile of clothing somebody had thrown out. I always meant to size them down to fit me but, well, I'm still not very good at sewing. They might not fit, but if they do they'll be better than your I-just-lost-a-fight-with-thirty-angry-cats look."

Norman stared at them. It was a kindness he hadn't experienced in two decades.

His silence made Max fidget uncomfortably. "I mean, if you don't like them, it's fine…"

Norman broke out of his surprise and put a hand down to tousle Max's hair with real affection. "Thank you, Little One. I am in your debt."

"Not even close," Max smiled at him. "Now, let's go see the barber."

The barber turned out to be a rotund man with twinkling eyes. Norman felt awkward in his shop, its gleaming cleanliness a stark contrast to his own tattered appearance. But the barber accepted him with warmth, partially due to Max's own enthusiasm. Max chattered constantly, filling the air with friendly commentary, and the barber replied in kind. Norman could see the man was very friendly with the boy, and had taken Norman, branded chest and all, at his say-so. While Max sat on a stool and carefully stitched the round circle onto Norman's black shirt, the barber sat Norman in a chair and began work on his mass of hair and beard.

An hour later, before they even permitted Norman to look at himself in the glass, they sent him with his newly-patched shirt and his borrowed trousers to change in a tiny back room. The trousers were a little baggy and long, but he tucked them into his boots and found they quite suited him. The shirt, when pulled over his head, settled with the round yellow circle in the center of his chest. It reminded Norman so of the sunlight that had been almost miraculous after his time in the Skull Mountains that he felt warmth fill his heart for more than one reason.

"Come on, Normie!" called Max brightly. "Come take a look!"

Norman returned to the main part of the shop and looked at himself in the glass at last.

Gone was the mass of tangled, matted, unruly hair. Gone was the beard that looked more like a bush that had recently been on fire. Instead, the front of Norman's hair had been cropped short, with the rest drawn into one long tail gathered behind that fell like a smooth ribbon to the middle of his back. The beard had been severely curtailed, cropped into a short, neat length with two points that made his jawline appear longer and squarer than ever.

Max dug into his bag and pulled out a long yellow ribbon of the same color as the patch.

"Here, big guy. This should finish the look."

Without waiting for permission, Max jumped onto the nearest chair and neatly tied the ribbon into a headband around the crown of his head, the long tails floating behind Norman like streamers. Norman had seen several warriors in the city with similar such headbands.

"What is it for?" he asked.

"Many young soldiers wear them," the barber spoke up, "in order to prevent their hair from falling into their eyes from combat." Then he looked at Max. "When one gives a headband to another, it is a sign of fellowship. Brothers often share them with one another, or members of a unit of the Guard may distribute them. It signifies that any who raises a hand to one has challenged his mates."

Max rolled his eyes. "Or, I just had it lying around and I don't need it because my hair isn't so long."

Norman let that explanation slide, guessing the truth for himself and not needing the boy to be comfortable verbalizing it. He simply nodded and said, "Thank you, Little One."

Max beamed.

Several customers entered and the barber was forced to bid a hasty goodbye as he turned to them. Max elbowed Norman and tipped his head over to the strangers. Norman looked and saw them watching him, but recognized nothing else about them worth the elbow he was still receiving in the ribs. Instead, he put a hand on Max's back and escorted him out of the shop.

"Did you see?" the boy practically bounced. "They were impressed!"

"Impressed, Little One?" Norman repeated.

"Yeah! Now that you don't look like you just rolled out of a tangle tree, you look like you belong at the head of the Guard or as some kind of ultra warrior preparing to enter The Dawning! I bet nobody calls you a barbarian now!"

Norman snorted but said nothing. Privately, he was gratified for the change. Not only would he draw less attention than he had as a walking hair monster, but he might be able to venture places that would otherwise have been closed to him.

Not that Norman particularly wanted to help Skullmaster in any way by obeying his orders, but he would have to make some attempts to do so or feel the horrific backlash of disobedience.

Accordingly, Norman looked to Max.

"If you haven't anything else to do today, would you mind showing me around the city?"

Max's face lit up. "Sounds like fun! Where to, big guy?"

"Everywhere."

-==OOO==-

And so it was. For the two weeks before The Dawning, Norman and Max rambled across the city of Intuition, and it seemed Max had learned every hidden by-way and shortcut.

As still more challengers and attendants arrived for The Dawning, Max and Norman investigated each. Norman did not explain his orders, and Max didn't ask his purpose. Instead, Max began for himself a running tally of everyone who would face the Conqueror and started making guesses as to which warriors would succeed.

Norman learned the boy kept himself partially independent by participating in the games of chance and by making wagers wagers throughout the city, and he was uncommonly good at them, too. For the duration of their time together, Norman almost never needed to return to the estate house for food – Max was able to win sufficient money reliably enough that he could feed himself and Norman quite comfortably.

Norman also learned that when Max was not feeding his giant shadow, he saved his winnings carefully, intending to give them to the baker and her children when he had become old enough to take an apprenticeship or join the Guard. The sum he named as having hidden in his mattress behind the bakery kitchen was already almost enough to send Bea to the Academy for as long as she might wish to study there, and Max had no doubt he would be able to double or triple that amount in only a few years.

It stunned Norman at first that his young, rambunctious friend was so generous, but the more time he spent with Max, the more he understood. Max felt profoundly indebted to the baker for giving him a home when he would otherwise have been alone, and he intended to repay that charity tenfold.

But Max's innate kindness was not limited to his adoptive family. Norman saw the boy, more than once, buy a bag of bread or meat and turn around and hand it off to the urchins in the street who were hungry and poor and alone in the world. Max would shrug if asked and remind Norman that he had been abandoned once and he hated seeing children go hungry. Norman could only agree and contribute a portion of his own share to the next street children they met.

Every day was spent in this manner, wandering the city, learning its secrets, and, quietly, feeding its populace a bit at a time. Max was possessed of a bright, happy energy that never seemed to wane even when the sunshine was replaced by rain, and he was filled with jokes and laughter and a great deal of sarcasm and snark which he shared with Norman freely.

Norman was slow to tease him in return, but such warm joyfulness was feeding his blackened heart and filling it with all that had been absent since the death of his father.

Of course, Norman still returned to the estate to train every evening and to make a report to Skullmaster when it was demanded, but he did so with somewhat less rage in his heart. Or, rather, he still would happily kill Skullmaster if ever given the chance. Now, however, he knew if or when he won true freedom he had something to return to and live for afterwards – and he was more prepared than ever to fight to ensure that he could return to follow Max, his Little One, wherever he might go.

It was the first time he had ever wanted anything other than revenge, and with each passing day, Norman found he wanted it more and more.

The only shadow other than Norman's continued slavery that hung over them was a literal shadow – a cloaked figure Norman managed to spot lurking nearby from time to time. But the figure never drew close, nor threatened in any way, and Norman could make out none of its features beyond the heavy hood. So he watched it warily but did not approach it. Max was unaware of the mysterious figure who followed them so often, and Norman did not want him to worry, so he said nothing.

But he never stopped his self-appointed vigil over the boy. For as long as Max walked at his side through the streets of Intuition, Norman was prepared to defend him by any means necessary.

-==OOO==-

On the day before The Dawning was to begin at the break of morn on the Spring Equinox, a vast caravan entered the city, igniting excitement and the rush of crowds to catch a glimpse. For the caravan bore with it three other rulers of the Seven Lands, personages rarely seen outside their own borders.

Norman propped Max on his shoulder so the boy could see when they found a good spot somewhat near the palace grounds.

At the head of the column rode a man who rivaled Norman for size, though his full red beard and hair spilled unbound before and behind him. He wore a golden helmet and rode a magnificent charger, flanked by a company of armored, impressive soldiers.

"That's Beowulf," Max said. "My mom told me about him. His kingdom is to the north and they're some of the best fighters in the Seven Lands."

Norman nodded as he watched the king with eyes that were bright with respect. "I know. When my own father was destroyed by Skullmaster, most of the Norns who escaped him fled to Beowulf's lands for protection. From what I have learned, he has treated them well."

Behind Beowulf's guards came a set of people who walked. Max might have confused them for commoners because they wore no spectacular regalia, nor carried any flashing banners of their kingdom. They all wore simple grey caps styled like the head of a wolf, and carried bows and arrows rather than shields and clubs and swords. But they marched in a formation unlike any Max had seen before.

Norman understood it first and anticipated the question. "Sight lines. So any one of them can fire without risking striking another. But to maintain that kind of formation takes intense training and discipline."

"Then that old man in front must be Jonayayin from the west," Max concluded.

He blinked when the man in question scanned the crowed and the black eyes met Max's own with a sharp gaze. But then the procession moved on and they were faced with a troupe of colorful jugglers and acrobats rather than any soldiers.

"King Hanuman is said to be a great trickster," Norman observed. "Don't be fooled, Little One. Every one of those people playing the mindless entertainer is capable of defending against any assassin."

"But where is the king?" Max asked. "Is he in that golden litter?" Max pointed at the curtained box carried on long poles by eight strong-looking men dressed in the same bright colors as the others.

"Maybe," Norman said slowly. "I have heard that Hanuman of the east has not allowed outsiders to see him for some reason since he was a child. But, on the other hand, that would be the likeliest place for him, and a true trickster is never where he should be."

As the caravan finished, flanked by the Guards of the Lady-Queen Mujaji, most of the interested onlookers returned to their tasks. But Norman's compulsion and Max's curiosity bade them follow to the very grounds of the palace. There, they were stopped by the Guards, of course, but they could see from the gate that the Lady-Queen herself descended from the grand entry to her palace to greet her guests.

If they could have overheard her words, they would both have been all the more intrigued.

"Welcome to my home, my friends," she said, spreading her arms wide. Gold bracelets adorned her wrists and shining earrings and necklaces sparkled around her face. Her dark brown skin set off the scarlet gown she wore, and her black hair was pulled into a severe knot at the top, also stuck through with golden pins.

But it was not a frail grip that met Beowulf's meaty hand.

"It is good to see you, warrior-sister," Beowulf said, his laughing face slightly more solemn for the occasion. "The northern Halls are empty without your laughter."

"By which you mean my common sense and advice," she replied. "I never did laugh nearly as often as you, old friend."

"No one does, I believe," said Jonayayin. His retainers joined Beowulf's in forming a defensive perimeter around the leaders of four of the Seven Lands. He bowed gracefully to Mujaji who inclined her head regally in return. "I am pleased to see that you are well, She-Whose-Sight-Is-Keen."

Mujaji smiled at the name Jonayayin had given her so long ago. "It does my home great honor to share it with you, Killer-of-Monsters."

"Well! Isn't this just a picture! Of course, a picture of _what_ , I daren't say! The three of you happily hug and kiss your hellos and leave me here to _boil_ to death!"

"It is your own doing, old friend," Beowulf laughed. "Have you still such vanity as that?"

The hooded figure emerged from the ever-moving troupe of entertainers, and none but his closest associates knew if he had been in the litter all along or if he had gone disguised amongst them. Not a single point of light penetrated the dense, heavy cloak which must have been stifling in the bright sunlight. The final member of the four started up the stairs of his own accord.

"Nice to see you, I'm sure, Muj. But if I don't get out of this sun, there won't be anyone left to go back east and keep things running so smoothly. Oh the things I do for all of you!"

The other three were well used to the antics of their fourth, and so merely followed him into the palace, signalling to their followers to disperse. Once inside the vast receiving chamber, Mujaji led the way through an unobtrusive door and past several of her most trusted Guards to a private chamber furnished comfortably. Only there, with the door closed behind them and no other eyes present, did the fourth finally allow his cloak to drop.

"Do you have any idea how _itchy_ fur is in this heat?" he demanded disgustedly.

"Hanuman, you are no longer fooling anyone," Jonayayin said calmly. "Do not suppose that we have forgotten who and what you truly are."

"What I am is still a monkey, thank you very much!"

But the fourth king smiled a little more genuinely. He always insisted he was particular about keeping his appearance concealed less because he was bothered by his furred body and chimp-like face and limbs, but much more so because he had not yet, in many years of study, been able to undo the curse that had transformed him. When Beowulf spoke of Hanuman's vanity, it was not his form, but rather his failure that he meant.

However, behind the beige fur and oddly slanted features whirled one of the sharpest minds in any of the Seven Lands, and Mujaji, Jonayayin, and Beowulf knew it well.

Beowulf crossed to take a seat in one of the plush chairs gathered around. "Sword-sister, you must tell us why you have called for The Dawning. Are you truly leaving these lands?"

Mujaji sat beside him and gestured for the others to sit as well. "No, of course not. But things must happen when there is no other choice."

"Your invitation was carefully worded," Jonayayin pointed out. "If you do not seek to pass on your kingdom, then what 'dominion' do you mean?"

Suddenly Hanuman's eyes narrowed. His slouched appearance vanished and he was all keen hunter, not of prey, but of knowledge. "Mujaji, it _can't_ be time yet."

"Ah, but it is." A fifth voice spoke from the other end of the room where another door was opening. Had the voice not been familiar, all four would have been to their feet and prepared for battle, as they were all exceptional warriors.

Beowulf's eyes went comically wide. "I did not know you were here!"

"I have been here for many years," answered a diminutive figure who moved across the floor on feet that clacked unlike any shoes or boots ever would. "I apologize for my failure to communicate with you, Beowulf, but my presence here could never be known to those who would divine the reason why."

"You are the one to have called for The Dawning, then," Jonayayin concluded.

"Just so, old friend. I would have rather waited a few more years, but time is short. Evil grows by the day. Even now, the demon-lord Skullmaster is within the city, though he will of course not face the Conqueror himself. The danger has never been so great."

"You're very quiet, Hanuman," Mujaji said. Then, her black eyebrows rose. "Or is this revelation no surprise to you?"

"Of course it isn't," the monkey king smiled lazily, though his eyes had lost no sharpness. "I knew he would be here long before you were ever aware he had arrived." He turned to the hooded figure. "But I thought we had more time."

"I wish it were so. But we cannot wait any longer. The balance of the very world hangs on The Dawning now, and on the challengers that face the Conqueror tomorrow. We must hope the Powers are with us, and that the correct champion reveals himself before it is too late."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about last week, guys. Here's the one I owe you and this weekend's as well. Late also. I'll try to let that be the last time this happens for a while!
> 
> Enjoy!

When the first rays of the sun struck the dirt ring that had been erected in front of the palace, the entire city of Intuition could feel the shaking of the earth.

"I am Mujaji, she who must be obeyed!" the Lady-Queen's voice rang out in the dawn light from her balcony overseeing the tournament grounds. "I invoke the ancient custom of The Dawning as is my right. Conqueror, I summon thee!"

There was a crack like lightning that split the very air, and from it emerged a monstrous creature. Its head was leontine, but black scales of armor covered a form that was neither human nor lion. Bulges in the armor covered mounds of flesh that might have been horrifically malformed muscles or bones or even stumps of additional limbs. The Conqueror's eyes opened and he fixed them on the unflinching monarch before him.

"I am the Conqueror. I will commence The Dawning as you command, my Lady."

Then he turned to the assembled crowd, which comprised virtually everyone within the city and all its recent guests. When he roared at them, his voice traveled like a fierce wind that made all those in its path shiver with sudden cold.

"Any who wish to challenge me must step into the ring before the sun is fully overhead. Each challenger must survive in combat with me for the entirety of an hour without suffering defeat or disarmament. Any challengers who survive today must battle me tomorrow for two hours. And if any survive that and are still unbeaten, then they will wage a final combat with me at dawn on the third day. Now let the challengers come!"

At first only a handful of warriors stepped forward, crossing the white line that marked the boundary of the tournament and the magical contract, but as those first men and women began to gather on the grounds, more followed. By the first hour after dawn, dozens of warriors stood crowded together to await their turn against the Conqueror.

Max was sitting in the stands in a thoroughly advantageous spot (which, if he considered it too long, left him with a bitter pang that it was not his mother in this place) beside a few of the warriors who had accompanied Beowulf. As he looked at the gathered crowd, he turned to the nearest one.

"How can the Conqueror fight all of them for an hour before the end of the day? There's way too many," he pointed out.

The large warrior beside him chuckled. "Young one, there is a vast difference between a challenger surviving an hour and the Conqueror requiring a full hour for each challenger. Most of those who have gathered will be disarmed or defeated in a matter of moments."

"So if you lose your weapon, you're out?" Max asked.

The warrior nodded. "Lose your weapon, lose your life. They are, in many ways, the same."

As the early morning continued, Max saw that his companion was correct. The field of challengers was winnowed quickly, the Conqueror sometimes eliminating a challenger in under a minute.

"Doesn't he get tired?" Max asked around the second hour after dawn.

"No." His companion shook his head. "He is not technically alive at all. The legends say that the Conqueror is a monster who is being punished for his wicked deeds thousands of years ago. He is not unbeatable, but he does not suffer the limits of mortality."

"Well, that's not really fair, is it?" Max wrinkled his nose.

"No one is required to defeat him," the warrior pointed out. "They need only survive him."

Max considered this for a moment before he excused himself. He had laid several different wagers upon various outcomes, but now that he had seen a bit more of the actual workings of The Dawning, he had an improved perspective and wished to adjust his bets. This was easily done, as all those who managed various games of chance and skill had congregated in the nearest large tavern to the tournament.

While Max was returning to the tournament, he encountered his friend the barber.

"Good morning!" the man greeted him cheerfully. "Where's your shadow today?"

"Norman? Uh, I haven't seen him," Max said.

"Seems amiss somehow that he's not entering into the tournament," the barber said easily.

Max frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

The barber glanced around, then leaned closer to the boy. "Listen, Max. I didn't say anything because I know he's your friend. But I saw that mark. He's a slave, isn't he?"

Max could only nod.

"Anyone who gets through The Dawning will present himself or herself to the Lady-Queen for consideration of whatever she's offering as prize. You know our Lady doesn't hold with slavery. And as sovereign over one of the Seven Lands, she's got the power to set slaves free, but only if they approach her in an audience. Wouldn't your friend be willing to take that chance?"

Max blinked. "I...I'm sure he would."

"Then why isn't he out there?" the barber asked shrewdly.

"I don't know." Max's face tightened as he squared his shoulders. "But I'm going to find out."

The barber smiled and slapped him on the back. "Good for you, boy. Now get going."

Max flashed him a grin and dashed off. He never saw the barber turn to a shadowy figure and nod before returning to his shop.

Although Max had never been to the estate where Norman was staying, he knew where it was. The streets all the way there were empty, and he sprinted over the cobblestones with the fleetness of a pegasus.

Just before he reached the main gate to the estate claimed by Skullmaster for the duration of The Dawning, Max slowed. He had a good feeling he didn't actually want to meet any of Skullmaster's demons or the master himself. Instead, he ducked along the wall to where it was sheltered by a high tree and thick bushes. Then, he climbed the tree and peered over the stone wall that divided the estate from the rest of Intuition.

Across the grounds, a horde of demons sat around, mostly sharpening weapons, it seemed. Max scanned the area for Norman but he was nowhere in sight.

"Okay, big guy," Max whispered to himself. "If I were you, and if I weren't at the tournament, where would I be? Not outside with these smelly guys, that's for sure."

From his vantage point, Max could see that many of the demons went into and out of the stables, so he mentally crossed that off his list, too.

"I guess that leaves the house."

Now, certainly there were few things more dangerous than attempting to sneak into the abode of a demon lord of the Seven Lands. But Max was courageous and loyal, and with every passing moment felt more and more certain Norman belonged in the tournament as a proper challenger.

And it was also true that in the two weeks spent in Norman's company, he had learned a great deal about how warriors secured their homesteads and how to best them. So Max looked up and down the scene searching for a place where he could approach the house that none of the demons in the yard would see.

At last he identified an angle that led from the perimeter past what looked like a disused well and to the greenery right against the stones of the manor's walls. There was no convenient tree to climb in the area, but Max was determined. He let himself down from the outer wall and counted his strides to the spot he had chosen. Then, digging his hands and the toes of his feet into the rough-hewn exterior, he climbed precariously up the outer wall again.

Max half-expected to come face-to-face with a demon when his head popped over the wall. But he had chosen well and there was nothing moving in sight.

Max pulled himself up onto the wall and, before his nerve could fail, turned and crawled back down it to the ground inside the estate. His grip slipped about halfway-down, but the grass was soft and green beneath him and he landed with a relatively soft _bump_. Then he scrambled to his feet and bolted to take shelter behind the well before another dash to the house.

Max was surprised to find a window unbolted and he eased it open. Norman had mentioned that none could hurt Skullmaster while he guarded him, but had not elaborated on the magical nature of the pact between them, so Max could not know that therefore Skullmaster's overall security was rather lax - he cared little if anyone intended harm to anyone in his retinue, and harm to himself would be handled by Norman.

Max crept through the fine house, making speedily for the grand stairs that led upwards. But rather than turn and look for the next flight of stairs that might take him to Norman's attic room, he found himself wandering to one side of the hallway. Drawn by a feeling he little understood and yet did not dare ignore, Max pushed open a gilded door to a broad bedchamber. His feet carried him to the edge of a black trunk.

When his hand fell upon it, two things happened at once.

The first was that Max could feel the lock unlatch itself at his touch with a shivery ease and the lid lifted a few inches.

The other was the low question from behind him. "What are you doing here?"

Max whirled to see Norman in the doorway. "Hey! Uh, well, I was, uh, coming to get you. For the tournament. The Dawning. Because you should try it. And, uh." He ran out of explanation.

Norman's face was torn, his emotions clearly warring with one another.

"I didn't mean to hurt anything," Max quickly added.

At that, Norman's expression cleared. "Thank you, Little One. That makes it much easier."

"What does?"

"If you were here to hurt Skullmaster or anything of his, I'd be forced to kill you."

Max's eyes went wide. But he understood, he could see the sorrow in Norman's face as he uttered those words and Max could easily believe his friend was not entirely a willing participant in such orders. He'd heard many stories of the demons from the Skull Mountains and their abilities to compel a person against their will. So Max simply nodded. "Good thing I'm not, then."

"But you have opened his trunk."

Max swallowed. "Is that bad?"

"I'm not allowed to do it," Norman said. "And Skullmaster's orders were that none should be permitted to break into it. You clearly haven't done that."

"Pretty fine line you're not crossing there, buddy," Max commented.

Norman smiled and there was nothing warm in it. "Yes, it is. Trust me, Little One. I live against that line."

"I believe it." Max turned back to the trunk. "So what's in here?"

"Skullmaster's most potent magical items as well as…" Norman paused only briefly before he finished, "my father's sword."

"Really?" Max's eyes lit up. "That's perfect!"

"Perfect for what?"

"Normie, big guy, you gotta go enter The Dawning. You've still got a few hours to show up before it's too late. I know you can survive that Conqueror guy - you're way tougher than most of the people I've got odds on. And if you get all the way to the end, you get an audience with Lady-Queen Mujaji."

Norman raised an eyebrow.

"Look, the way the law works, you have to petition a monarch to be released from slavery if you're from another Land, but if you get the chance to make the petition, there's no way Lady-Queen Mujaji won't grant it. You just have to have a reason to see her, and since she doesn't hold general audiences anymore, the best way there is to get through The Dawning and the big prize. If you get through the Conqueror's three days of battle, you could be free of Skullface forever! But to participate, you have to have a weapon."

Norman took a cautious step into the room. "Little One. You want me to enter The Dawning...fight in front of some of the finest warriors in the Seven Lands...for just a shot at getting free of Skullmaster?"

Max blinked at him. "Uh. Yeah?" Then he grinned. "Besides, what else are you going to do for three days while everybody's watching the fight?"

Norman's own face split in a savage grin. "Busy hands are happy hands."

Max whooped. "That's what I hoped you'd say! Now let's get your father's sword and get you to those tournament grounds! You'll win your round and be back before anyone knows you left."

Max turned back to the chest, failing to notice the slight pallor that had fallen over Norman's face. Norman had not seen his father's sword since the day he had become a slave, and some part of him felt like the boy who had cried in his father's blood in that instant. It was well that Max did not hesitate, for Norman might not have been able to stand any delay. Instead, Max pushed the lid of the trunk back and had no trouble spotting the hilt that shone with a bright light in the dark shadows of its cage.

The sword was long and sturdy, the glint of its blade true in the morning light. The grip was wrapped in the blue color that had been Norman's father's clan color, but the guard and pommel shone like gold though the metal was not one Max had ever seen before. He paused for a moment before closing his fingers on the smooth wraps of the grip and lifted it into the air.

The instant the sword was free of the chest, Norman felt as though a dark, shadowy weight had lifted from him.

"Wow," Max breathed. "What's it made of?"

"No one knows," Norman answered. "It has been in my family for generations. My father once told me that he believed it was forged of the metal of the stars in the fire of the sun by the Powers themselves."

Max shrugged. "Works for me. So, what do you think, big guy? You ready to put it to use against the Conqueror?"

Max held out the sword carefully, one hand balancing the bare blade and the other supporting the cross-guard and grip. He offered it as if it were blessing and benediction in one, and Norman felt the profound power of it, of the gift and the honor inherent in it. Norman closed his right hand around the grip and felt inexplicably _whole_ for the first time in his life.

"Thank you, Little One," he whispered, his left hand finding the boy's head to touch with all the feeling he did not speak. Then he hefted the sword properly, its balance settling into his arms as if he were born to wield it. "Yes. Let's go."

"One last thing, big guy," Max said as they emerged in the hallway and began down the stairs. "You probably don't want Old Boneface to figure out you're doing this. I think you better go in disguise."

"How?" Norman frowned.

"You leave that to me," Max assured him. "I've got an idea. I'll meet you at the western entrance to the tournament grounds. Until then, you stay out of sight."

Norman looked down at his young friend. There was such confidence, such clarity in Max's eyes. How could Norman fail to trust in him?

"Very well."

With Norman keeping watch, the pair left the estate with none the wiser. Norman was not concerned about anyone reporting on his absence - the previous two weeks had proven that all those under Skullmaster's command trusted in the magical pact that bound him and never concerned themselves with his whereabouts. And none would dare enter Skullmaster's own chamber, either. None but the yellow-haired boy racing beside Norman down the streets.

As they reached the part of the city where the roar of the crowd witnessing The Dawning could be heard, Max ducked off to one side on his self-appointed plan. Norman simply folded into the crowd and those shadows he could find, though he knew he only need fear Skullmaster and his pair of lieutenants. But they, he had overheard, had fine seats on one end of the grounds and he was far from them.

At the spot Max had chosen, Norman concealed himself partway under one of the reviewing stands and waited. He did not need to wait long.

"Normie!"

Max came waddling forward with an enormous bundle wrapped in a bluish chain that was half-dragging on the ground. Norman rose quickly to relieve him of the weight.

"What is it?"

Max's face was flushed with exertion. "I traded my ticket to one of Beowulf's guys for some of his spare armor and stuff. There's a chestplate and a full helmet with a visor and even some boots, I think."

"You shouldn't have given away your ticket," Norman frowned at him. He was uneasy with the idea of battling the Conqueror without Max to watch him.

"Don't worry about, buddy. I got it all figured. I also ran home and grabbed my pack."

Under Norman's eyes, Max dropped a bundle of cloth he'd carried slung over one shoulder. Norman blinked at the bright white and scarlet tabard and the blue leggings.

"Mom gave them to me a long time ago," Max explained. "She wanted me to be able to wait for her in the palace sometimes, so she disguised me as a page and I'd stand at attention outside the library or something while she worked. I think the Lady-Queen knew because the page-masters never bothered me. There's pages all over the tournament. So I'll be able to come and go and nobody will stop me from being right there with you!"

Norman carefully unwrapped the bundle of armor, a certain heaviness in his throat. Max had traded his mother's own ticket to help him. Of course the boy had not been without a backup plan, but still...there was a cost to what Max had paid for Norman's sake.

_I will survive The Dawning and win my freedom and I will pay him back a thousand-fold_ , he vowed silently.

"Come on, Norm! We haven't got all day!"

It was the work of only a few moments for Max to help Norman into the big, proper warboots, not heavy ones like those he had tromped through the Skull Mountains wearing, and to buckle the sturdy chestplate. It was not elaborate, not decorated, but it was solid and simple and reminded Norman with a pang of his own father's war-armor - not the finery he wore to impress his opponents. The helmet was solid with a short pair of horns attached, and the visor covered most of Norman's face and neck but for the slit for his eyes.

Max dug the toe of one foot into the ground as if nervous before he pulled something else out of his pack. "Here. You might need this."

Norman blinked. Carefully wrapped in the page's tabard had been a bracer, heavy and wide enough to run from the joint of his wrist almost to his elbow on one arm. It bore several grey spikes that had dulled with age that looked strong enough to catch and hold a blade. But what struck him was the color.

"I know," Max said quickly. "It's the same blue as your dad's sword."

"How?" Norman stared at the boy.

"I dunno," he shrugged. "I've just always had it. I think it came from the people who gave me to mom as a kid."

"I can't take this," Norman said quietly. "It's yours, part of your heritage. It could get damaged in the fight."

"You don't have anything else to protect your arms," Max shook his head. "The Conqueror is in a full set of armor. I've already seen him take off some hands and legs today. I can't do anything about the rest of it, but I figure this gives you a chance to block whatever he throws at you, right?"

Norman was ready to refuse but Max's blue eyes met his blazingly.

"Oh, come on. Take it. Please?"

Norman could not deny the boy, not when he asked so sincerely. Solemnly, Norman buckled the bracer on his right arm, feeling the weight comfortingly. He stretched down and fluffed the golden hair again.

"Thank you, Little One."

"Don't sweat it, buddy. Now, make like a wall so I can change."

While Max ducked into the space behind Norman to scramble into his page clothing, Norman noticed the bluish chain on the ground - it had been used to ball up the armor bundle. Norman picked it up and fastened it around his waist. It might come in handy as a weapon, or he might be able to use it to protect the place where the chest-plate ran short on his torso.

And it was another reminder of the one who had brought him so far.

When Max emerged, he was indistinguishable from the dozens of pages that ran about all through the tournament and palace grounds. He blinked up at Norman.

"If I didn't know you, I'd never recognize you," he said. "And you've got about an hour to spare to declare yourself before the time limit ends. Do you want to watch for a while or something?"

But Norman shook his head. "Watching will not tell me how I will fight him."

Max shrugged. "Fair enough. Well, that's where everybody goes to sign up for The Dawning."

He pointed to a pavilion right at the edge of the white ring that denoted the magically binding contract. A few warriors stood together making their mark on a sheet of paper before they crossed the white line. In the center of the broad ring, the Conqueror was roaring at a thin, quick fighter who wore the grey cap of Jonayayin's people. She was bleeding, but still on her feet. Beyond, at the other end of the ring, fewer than a dozen warriors sat exhausted on benches within the ring - these, apparently, had survived the first round.

Norman strode to the pavilion with Max at his side. The scribe barely looked up, simply held out a scroll.

"Can you write?" he asked in a nasal voice.

"Yes," Norman rumbled back.

"Good. Write your name and where you come from. And anyone who should receive your belongings if you don't survive."

Norman raised an eyebrow and waggled it at Max who fought not to giggle. Then, with a hand shaky from lack of practice - literacy was not particularly valued in the Skull Mountains - Norman carefully wrote:

_Norman of the Norns  
Give my things to Max ScribeSon, my only friend_

"Not for long, buddy," Max whispered beside him. "Soon they're all gonna know your name."

Norman shrugged. Knowing his name would not mean Norman would entrust them with whatever little was his to give. And Norman was comforted in the certainty that if he died in battle with the Conqueror, his father's sword would be passed to Max under the eyes of the Lady-Queen Mujaji and would carry the stain of Skullmaster's keeping no longer.

"See you on the other side, Little One," Norman said, resting a hand on Max's shoulder in farewell.

Then, his shoulders straight and proud, he stepped into the ring.

The instant Norman entered the area bounded by the magical ring, he felt his pact with Skullmaster dissolve. He actually rocked on his feet.

"Be easy, lad," came a voice at his side. Norman turned to see a man with a long beard wearing the arm-patch of a scholar standing in the shade of the pavilion he had just left. "If your armor was enchanted, the binding of The Dawning removes such wizardry, but only temporarily. When you leave the circle, all will be as it was again."

"Oh."

But it was true freedom. His soul was his own. If even for only a moment, Norman knew with joy that here alone he could die free. But he had good reason not to die at all.

"Do you have any other questions before you begin?" the scholar asked.

Norman shook his head.

"Go get him, big guy!" Max called from where he'd taken up a post sitting on the steps of one of the reviewing stands.

Norman turned back and realized that the warrior previously battling with the Conqueror had survived her hour and had retreated to the others resting and watching from across the grounds. A few challengers stood between Norman and the waiting Conqueror, and each approached individually, weapon at the ready. Of the four, only one lasted above twenty minutes against the Conqueror, and even he fell in the end.

And then it was Norman's turn.

"You can do it, buddy!" Max shouted.

Norman hefted his father's sword and looked at the waiting Conqueror, his armor midnight-black and undented, though there were streaks of blood on his clawed hands and feet.

"Why not submit and go to the underworld in one piece?" the Conqueror taunted him. He waved the heavy mace that had crushed many challengers already that morning.

Norman shook his head. "Nah."

"Then let the battle begin so I may crush you into oblivion!"

Norman smirked. "I don't think so, Conqueror! I eat guys like you for breakfast!"

The Conqueror rushed him and Norman raised his father's sword to catch the mace on a block.

The crowd roared in approval as Norman endured the initial bone-jarring blows that had eliminated so many challengers already. Max's eyes stayed fixed on his friend as the minutes passed and soon Norman was halfway through his hour combat. He'd been hit hard several times, but the chest-plate, helmet, and even the blue bracer had spared him serious injury. And though he was clearly breathing hard, Max somehow knew Norman was completely in his element and not yet outdone.

"Why did you enter him in The Dawning?"

Max was surprised to hear a voice so close to himself - he had not noticed anyone approaching. Behind and to one side, he finally realized the person who had spoken must be the one wearing a heavy hood even in the midday heat seated on the nearest bench. Max blinked; he could see nothing of the person's face, only their rather short stature.

Still, Max answered politely. "I didn't enter him. He entered on his own."

"He would not have but for your interference."

Max wasn't sure how anyone could know that, so he spoke carefully. "Sometimes people need a hand. He did me a couple of favors lately, and he's a good guy. I'm just glad I could help him out in return."

"Hmm." The mysterious figure seemed to consider that answer.

Max briefly wondered if this was one of Skullmaster's demons, but he dismissed the idea. Not only had Norman made it clear that Skullmaster kept no one who was not of an intimidating size in his service, but something about this hooded stranger did not seem evil to Max. He prided himself on his ability to read situations and people, and in spite of having only a voice and word-choice to make his decision, both made him feel safe.

"What is your name?" the figure asked.

"I'm Max. Can I ask your name?"

"I cannot give it to you," the figure responded, and Max was not surprised. People in hoods at midday tended not to want to be identified, after all. "However, if you wish to call me Teacher, that will suffice well enough."

Max nodded. He turned back to watch Norman evade a punishing blow and roll nimbly to one side before charging back in, sword upraised.

"He is very skilled," remarked Teacher. "And he fights with conviction."

"He should," Max admitted. "He's got good reason to want to get through this."

"Yes, I imagine he does." There was a pause and then Max felt Teacher bump into the middle of his back as Teacher moved from the seat behind him. "I must go. But know this, Max. The road before your warrior is more perilous than you can possibly imagine."

Max whirled and glared at the figure, trying to see through the shadows of the hood to Teacher's eyes. "What do you mean? Is that a threat?"

"No. Call it a warning." Teacher retreated a few steps. "Should you find yourself in need of help, you may call upon me. I give you my word, I will do whatever is within my power to assist you both if you but ask."

Max blinked. "Uh, okay. Thanks?" Then, after a moment, "How do I find you?"

"Trust in yourself. I will be where and when you need me."

Max was about to shout after the stranger when a yell from the ring drew his attention back to Norman. The Conqueror had actually been knocked back, and Norman was roaring in triumph.

"It is not over yet, challenger!" the Conqueror bellowed.

Twenty minutes later, it was.

"You have fought admirably," the Conqueror said as he lowered his mace at last. "Tomorrow shall not be so easy."

"I'm looking forward to it," Norman said. He had a distracting ringing in his head and ribs that were at least bruised, but he was alive and had passed the first round in one piece.

With the crowd shouting its approval at his back, Norman strode to where the other remaining challengers sat.

"Do I have to stay here?" Norman asked one.

"No," the man shook his head. "You are released for now, but you have to return before dawn or the magic of The Dawning will kill you."

"See you then," Norman tipped his head. Then he abandoned the ring and sought out the only person who mattered.

"Way to show him who's boss! That was _fantastic_!" Max bounced up to him, grinning brighter than the sun. "I _knew_ you could do it, buddy!"

"You have my thanks for the bracer, Little One," Norman held it up. "It likely saved my life."

"Then you better hang onto it for tomorrow, huh?" Max nudged him. "Now, come on. You've got to be starving after that, and we need to get your sword back in its box before anybody figures out the game."

It was relatively simple for Norman and Max to sneak back into the estate. Norman concealed the borrowed armor upstairs in his attic space while Max returned the gleaming sword to Skullmaster's black chest. To Max's surprise, when he closed the lid of the chest, it latched on its own. But before he could wonder about it, Norman was there in the doorway looking tense again and Max quickly put it out of his mind in order to reassure his friend that he still meant no harm to Skullmaster and could they please get lunch now?

Without the helmet, chest-plate, bracer, and sword, Norman looked like any other visitor to the city once again, and he and Max were able to resume their wanderings in Intuition with little attention paid to them. Max had changed out of his page clothing as well, and so they were able to listen with amusement as various passers-by told of the helmeted warrior who had endured the Conqueror after entering with less than an hour before the circle's magic would refuse all further challengers.

Stories of Norman's battle grew with the telling throughout the afternoon and soon even Max was adding his own bits and pieces until such time that the rumored warrior could only be ten feet tall with three swords he could wield at once while singing epic poetry from the wild northlands.

And Norman laughed at the exaggerated tales of himself, and Max laughed as he added more and more details to further obscure Norman's true identity.

And Max forgot about Teacher and the chest that locked on its own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanuman is amazingly fun to write. Just in case there was any doubt.
> 
> Enjoy!

Hanuman looked up as the door opened to the private chambers that had been given to him by Mujaji and into which none would venture but the four he permitted to see his true face.

"Finished your wanderings in disguise? Isn't it hateful in this heat?" Hanuman called.

"It does not trouble me as it does you, so I would not describe it as 'hateful.' It is, however, an excellent way to watch The Dawning up close rather than from Mujaji's balcony."

"And how'd it go?" Hanuman asked without lifting himself from his graceless slump across a soft settee.

"Surprising," came the answer.

Hanuman raised an eye-ridge; "brow" did not quite describe the arch of his forehead anymore. "How so?"

"Several challengers survived to tomorrow's event, but one in particular interests me. He bears a sword of my own homeland, though I would be surprised if he knew its true origin. And...he has an unexpected advantage."

That was intriguing enough, along with the slight hesitation in one Hanuman knew from decades did not often find anything at all to be surprising, to make monkey-king sit up fully. "And what's that?"

Five colored stones were set onto the table before Hanuman.

"One is ruined and two are at least partially cracked," Hanuman observed. "I assume these stones were spelled?"

"Obviously."

"And this happened while that particular challenger was in combat with the Conqueror?"

"Yes, of course."

"Hmm." Hanuman turned over the pair of cracked stones in his furred fingers. "He's much more powerful than we suspected. And a sword of Lemuria is in play? That cannot be coincidence."

"I think not." After a moment, "I did warn the boy that his challenger might be in danger."

"Did you really?" Hanuman was rather surprised. "That was quite bold of you, old friend."

"If that challenger is to survive both The Dawning and the dangers already present, he will need all the help he can get. I believe he little knows himself what entering The Dawning will mean."

The monkey-king frowned at his friend. "What aren't you telling me?"

There came a sigh. "The challenger is beholden to Skullmaster."

Hanuman was on his feet before he realized he'd moved. "You _cannot_ be serious!"

"I am entirely serious, Hanuman. It does explain a few things, however."

Hanuman began to pace, his mind whirling at speeds horses and lightning bolts could never hope to reach. "Skullmaster's no fool. He may not see all the truth at once, but he will certainly discover one of his own house has entered The Dawning all too soon. He may even suspect the reason behind it. The challenger is obviously powerful, but he isn't ready. _We're_ not ready. We could stand to lose everything we have worked for in the last ten years!"

"Possibly. But we mustn't discount him. He has shown resilience so far. He may have more power than even we can speculate. I would not test him fully against Skullmaster, but that does not mean all is hopeless."

Hanuman snarled. "That Skullmaster! Someday I'm going to tell Beowulf that that bone-faced demon said something nasty about his mother or somesuch and I'll tell Mujaji that he taunted her for being a _girl_ and maybe the two of them will finally unleash their full wrath against him and we'd be rid of the monster!"

"You know as well as I, old friend, that even the full armies of four of the Seven Lands cannot eradicate Skullmaster's evil alone. Though I agree it might make us all feel better to try."

Hanuman absently kicked at a cushion that had fallen from the settee when he had flopped upon it originally, sending it spinning across the floor. "Of _course_ he would be tied in with Skullmaster. The Powers forbid that that which is already impossible be made any easier!"

"What is it exactly they say about sarcasm and wit?"

"That it's the _best_ sort of wit and I don't care what you think?" Hanuman shot back.

That garnered a chuckle. "This is what I have missed all these years. Your excellent repartee."

Hanuman laughed in spite of himself. "I'm glad someone thinks so. Most of my people have taken to pretending they can't hear me when I get upset."

"That must make it quite difficult to run your kingdom, then."

"No, it's easy," Hanuman shrugged. "Anything that causes me to shout invective at my retainers is immediately abolished or reversed. They don't have to listen to what I say to know my feelings on the matter."

"Truly, you are a wonder sometimes."

"Either that or a madman," Hanuman agreed. "But then, you never sought me out because I was particularly _conventional_."

"No, and it is for that reason I shall rely upon you once more."

Hanuman sighed. "What do you need?"

"We must test him. My projections show an almost unavoidable disaster before us, and we must know if he can endure it. But I do not know how to do it without revealing all. Particularly with Skullmaster so close to him."

"I understand, old friend. If you can put your faith in Jonayayin as well as myself, I think the old wolf will have some ideas. He's almost as clever as me, you know."

"Of course I know that. That's why I bespoke him first."

"Oh, you did, did you?" Hanuman glared. "And what did he say?"

"That you would not voluntarily work with him unless it was your idea. Which I already knew, of course. Nor would he agree to work with you had I not let him suggest it first."

"You are devious, underhanded, and entirely too confident, old friend. Now that you've told me how you baited me, I could simply refuse and leave your hook dangling empty." Hanuman tipped back onto the settee, scattering a few more cushions and stretching out lazily.

"I calculated the possibility. But the truth is that you will not refuse, not now that you know what I know. If not out of a sense of duty to the Seven Lands, you will do it for the sake of your own curiosity."

Hanuman closed his eyes. "Why should I be curious?"

"Don't you want to know if you can beat him?"

The monkey-king groaned. "No. No I don't. I don't care."

"Yes you do. I know you do."

"All right! _Fine_! Tomorrow it is! And you owe me at least seven games of chess for this, you superior little meddler."

"Very well."

-==OOO==-

When Norman returned to the estate at nightfall, he was prevented from making his nightly report to Skullmaster by Warmonger accosting him in the hallway. That in itself was unusual enough for Norman to take notice.

"The master wants me to see what you have learned," Warmonger rasped in his shallow voice.

Norman's suspicions grew, but he simply nodded and followed the lieutenant out into the yard.

For the better part of three hours, Norman and Warmonger battled as if to the death. The blood-skinned demon was vicious in his attacks, more than once flaying Norman's skin open in narrow, sharp cuts. Norman fought as well as he could, but the weapon he had been given for their contest was a short, rather ill-balanced backsword that Norman suspected had been found on the estate somewhere - maybe holding up a table or wedging open a door, from the look of it.

That did not, of course, prevent Norman from bashing Warmonger across the teeth with it when the opportunity presented itself.

At last Warmonger called a halt to the battle, and only when it was apparent his own energy was flagging far more than Norman's.

"Skullmaster wants to see you after you clean and repair my armor," he said with a sneer.

And so Norman spent another hour correcting all the dents he had just put in Warmonger's chest plate and the single shoulder-guard he favored. By the time Norman had finished his task, it was well into night. But a candle burned in the room Skullmaster had taken for himself, his door open just enough for Norman to nudge it open and wait. Skullmaster ignored him for almost another hour before he finally deigned to raise his eyes to his slave.

"I order you tell me the truth," Skullmaster said, his voice low and dangerous. "Did you touch anything of mine in this room today?"

"No," Norman responded. _Max opened the chest. I only touched him and the sword and neither of them could ever belong to you_.

Skullmaster peered at him. "You are not clever enough to trick me, _boy_. But if this is the game you wish to play, I will oblige you. Come here."

Norman could not help but obey.

Skullmaster produced a heavy metal cuff the dark color of dried blood. "Hold out your left hand."

Norman did not so much as blink when the cuff settled around his wrist and locked itself. An instant later, the hinge and the latch vanished and the cuff became a solid metal band as though it had been forged around Norman's arm. Then Skullmaster passed Norman a heavy, sharp saber.

"I have cursed this manacle to be bound to the estate. You will find it impossible to leave this place while wearing it until midday tomorrow. If you have not entered The Dawning without my permission, you will simply wait for it to fall from your wrist and begin your day as usual when it does.

"But," and he pushed into Norman's face with eyes that glowed wickedly, "if you have been so foolish as to enter The Dawning, you will have to choose your own fate. You may fail to appear at the tournament grounds on time, and the Conqueror's wrath will kill you. Or you may cut off your hand before dawn and continue to participate."

Skullmaster laughed with sinister pleasure.

"I will be very interested in your state tomorrow if you still live. Even you, I believe, will not survive the Conqueror with your lifeblood flowing from the stump of your arm. Or perhaps I am wrong," and the sly smile had made lesser men and demons cower before him. "Tomorrow at sunset, we shall learn which of us is the more clever. Now go."

Norman turned and strode from the room, climbing to the attic without thought. Only when he was seated on the edge of the pallet that was his rough bed did he fully register what had just happened.

He looked dully down at his hand, his heart thundering in his chest.

Norman did not particularly fear losing his hand. Of course, he obviously did not _want_ to cut off his own limb. But an injury of that sort was rather common among the Norn warriors of his childhood, and they had lived well enough and continued to battle even if not quite so sound in body after an accident.

However, Norman guessed that Skullmaster was not only testing him - rather than asking him straight out if he had entered The Dawning, which Norman knew was the demon's way of toying with him as he had done since the beginning - but rather, Skullmaster was preparing for every contingency. Skullmaster could order Norman not to attend The Dawning in the morning, but that would result in his death if he had presented himself as a challenger. If death were what he wished, he could just as easily kill Norman at any time. But Skullmaster did not necessarily want to lose his favorite human bodyguard and slave.

If Norman had not entered The Dawning, there would be nothing to punish, and therefore no harm would come to him this time. If Norman had, Skullmaster was providing him with the ultimate choice - suffer the punishment for his insolence or die.

Norman supposed he should feel honored that Skullmaster had enough faith in his abilities that he assumed Norman could survive a second encounter with the Conqueror after a sleepless night as well as the loss of a hand. Except he would never feel honored by anything Skullmaster did or thought ever, no matter what. And, of course, it was less that Skullmaster was impressed by Norman and more that he had little invested in the outcome. If Norman died either in The Dawning or by refusing to attend, Skullmaster would be out a bound slave, which might bother him as much as a fly in his wine goblet; obviously, he would rather it not be so, but if it happened, Skullmaster would barely recall it later.

But still. To cut off his own hand, to voluntarily go through the pain of it, and the risk not just of death by blood-loss but infection, and to then be so weakened against the Conqueror…

And then there was Max.

Norman closed his eyes. How was he to explain to the boy that his well-meaning hope for Norman had resulted in Skullmaster's twisted punishment? Max's heart would break if he were responsible for Norman's death, or for his own choice to remove his hand. How could Norman put such a burden on his shoulders? It wasn't his fault - it was only Skullmaster's fault - but Norman knew the boy well enough now to be certain he wouldn't see it that way.

Max had already promised to meet Norman in the hour before dawn outside the bakery so he could be sure to bring his friend a breakfast fit for a challenger, he'd said, before they returned to the estate after everyone else had left to retrieve the sword again. Norman knew that when he was late, the boy would come seeking him - and Skullmaster and his demons might yet be present.

Something about that gave Norman a vicious, dark chill. He did _not_ want Max anywhere near Skullmaster. Not _ever_.

The sword.

Norman remembered suddenly that when he had found Max that morning, the boy had opened the chest. A chest cursed with Skullmaster's best enchantments to prevent precisely what Max had done seemingly innocently.

_How did he do that?_

Norman couldn't answer the question, but it did inspire a plan.

Norman slept as much as he could, timing his waking to the hour before dawn with the skill and practice of a lifetime acting as slave and soldier. Around him, the house was stirring - Lavalord and Warmonger's ear-bending tones could be heard upraised in an argument of some sort about the breakfast of the day. Norman made his way silently down the attic stairs and ducked immediately into the first room to hand - the one Lavalord was using. From there, it was less effort than breathing for Norman to simply climb out the window and let himself down the side of the house to the grounds.

There were a few demons ostensibly on watch around the edges of the estate, but Norman knew most of them had either spent the night reveling after watching The Dawning or else had been kept awake by those who had done so and would now be half-asleep on duty. He had no trouble reaching the front gate without being seen.

Just to be sure, Norman attempted to put his hand through the gate and out into the street. The instant the metal cuff left the boundary, it froze as though it had encountered a wall. Push or pull as he might, Norman could not budge it the length of a fingertip from the exact line of the estate's border.

No matter. Norman had other ways of handling uncomfortable situations, carefully honed after a lifetime of having to obey orders and not ever wanting to do so completely.

He made his way along the wall of the estate in the direction from which Max would shortly arrive when he came looking for his tardy friend. Then, where the wall was partly concealed by overgrown bushes, Norman simply utilized his superior strength to wrestle several bricks from the wall. Once he had the start of an opening, it was easy to build it large enough for him to crawl through. Norman kept his left hand where it hung trapped by Skullmaster's curse, but the rest of him was soon outside the wall where he could flag Max down out of sight of Skullmaster's minions.

Less than half an hour from when he should have met Max, Norman's friend appeared - running up the lane at full-speed in his page clothing. He spotted Norman at once.

"Normie! What're you doing here, big guy? And where's your stuff?" he raced to Norman's side.

"I am sorry, Little One. I was...prevented." Norman pointed over his shoulder at his arm through the wall.

Max looked at it, at the strange way Norman's arm hung suspended. "You can't take it off? And it won't let you leave?"

"Skullmaster wants to punish me if I am the one who entered The Dawning. If I'm not, it doesn't matter if I'm stuck here. But if I am…" he trailed off.

"We gotta do something!" Max exclaimed, eyes wide in the false-dawn's growing light. "And fast!"

"I know," Norman said. "But wait. They'll leave soon." He didn't want to have to make his terrible decision with any of Skullmaster's retainers around.

"We're cutting it really, really close here, buddy," Max said, nervous.

Norman led Max back through the wall and they both looked out through the hole at the road. In only a few minutes, Skullmaster led the long crowd of demons and half-demons into the street to take their places in the reviewing stands. Even so, Norman waited until one-hundred heartbeats after the last had vanished down the lane before he would be moved.

"Okay," Norman turned to Max. "There are three options, and like it or not, we've got to figure them out right now."

Max's face was getting paler as dawn crept closer. "Lay them on me."

"One, I stay here and die at sunrise when I break the contract of The Dawning."

"Definitely not," Max almost growled.

"Two, I cut my hand off and go to The Dawning like Skullmaster wants me to."

Max blanched and his whole body flinched. "Normie? Big guy? I'm really, _really_ hoping option three is better, because I don't think option two is going to work for me."

"Or three." Norman peered into Max's eyes. "You do whatever you did to open Skullmaster's trunk and get me out of this thing."

Max gulped. "What if I can't?"

"Then we go with option two."

Max actually stepped backwards, half-tripping in the bush. "You'll...you would…" He swallowed a dry cough. "It's my fault. I got you into this."

"No, Little One," Norman caught up with him and held him by the shoulders so Max was forced to look into his face. "Whatever happens, it is my choice, or Skullmaster's evil. I am grateful for your friendship and nothing less than that. What you have given me in the days I have known you is more than I ever thought to have in my life again. If I die today, here or at The Dawning, I die with that in my heart."

Max's breath was coming too fast, but Norman's words seemed to calm him. However, regret hung in his voice when he said, "I don't know how I opened the trunk. I don't know if I can do it again."

"I choose to believe in you, my friend. Now try."

Max nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. But his body grew still and his breathing slowed as he brought himself under control. When he looked up again, he did not flinch from Norman's gaze.

"Here goes," he whispered.

Max shifted and Norman released his grip, holding his left arm out before the boy. Max closed his small fingers on the metal cuff and let out a breath that was half a prayer.

For a moment, nothing happened.

And then the metal cuff simply popped open, its hinges and latch reappearing as if they had never been gone, its size not so precisely the circumference of Norman's wrist. It fell to the ground and landed amidst the branches.

Max stared at it for a moment before he looked at Norman with face alight. "I did it!" Then, "How'd I do it?"

"I don't know, but I knew you could," Norman told him, his face gladdening in a broad grin. It had been a gamble for sure, but Norman had trusted in the strange young friend he had made. "Now, we've got to hurry!"

They flew to the house, Max rushing straight to Skullmaster's chamber to retrieve Norman's sword while Norman went to don his armor.

Once outside the estate, Max ran beside Norman for a few paces before he panted, "Just go ahead of me, big guy. I can't...run as fast...as you. I'll slow you down."

Norman looked at the boy who was maintaining an impressive pace given that his legs were less than half as long as Norman's own. He shook his head and smiled, though it couldn't be seen through the helmet.

"We do this together."

And Norman caught up Max and perched him on his back before he surged ahead at his best sprinting pace towards the grounds of the tournament. They reached it just before the first rays of true dawn.

Norman set Max down near one of the reviewing stands and felt a jolt of tension go through his stomach, as though he were being pulled from within. He looked to the boy.

"Go get 'im, big guy!" Max grinned, his face alight. "I'll be right here."

Norman nodded and let his feet carry him into the circle denoted by the white line that signified the magical pact between the Conqueror and the challengers. He noted he was the last to arrive, and there were no more than fifteen of them in total assembled for the second day of battle. When the dawn arrived in full, there was a feeling of pressure in the air before the Conqueror appeared. Unlike the previous day, when he had carried a weighty mace, today he bore a slim staff of gold.

"Challengers!" he roared. "Today will mean your defeats! Who dares begin against me?"

One of the fifteen stepped forward, his head up proudly. "I will!"

The challenger closed with the Conqueror and attacked with his longsword. But after only a few blows, the Conqueror shoved one end of the staff into the challenger's middle.

And unleashed a torrent of flame.

The cries of surprise from the crowd were easily overwhelmed by the scream of pain from the challenger as flames licked across his body. He dropped to his knees, longsword forgotten, and wrapped his arms around himself. The Conqueror raised the staff and twirled it, showing that flames curled from either end.

"This challenger is defeated! Who dares approach next?"

There was a long pause as a few of the challengers moved the fallen warrior to the circle's edge where healers were already gathered, waiting. Then, the woman with the cap of Jonayayin's people stepped forward. She did not speak, but she brandished her own blades.

Max found himself with fists clenched tightly as he witnessed her battle. He knew that each warrior had to endure two hours against the Conqueror, but the day's first challenger hadn't lasted two minutes.

"Good morning."

Max jumped and turned to see Teacher beside him. "Yeah, hi," he said absently, looking back to the ring.

"The Conqueror becomes increasingly dangerous with each day of The Dawning," Teacher said. "I should imagine no more than one or two challengers will remain to stand against him tomorrow."

Max swallowed. "What's it for? How many people are going to die for whatever this competition is all about? I know why Norman's invested in it, and he doesn't care about the Lady-Queen's prize, but why are the rest of them doing this?"

Teacher sighed. "For some, it is merely a test of strength, a means to prove oneself against an impossible foe. Unfortunately, those are the ones who most often do not have the fortitude to endure. As for the rest, there are some who would risk anything for the correct reward."

"For Lady-Queen Mujaji's whatever-it-is? It's not even the kingdom! I heard _nobody_ knows for sure what she's offering, just that it must be big." Max looked down at the diminutive figure and wished he could see through the shadows of the hood to Teacher's face.

"It is necessary that very few know the true purpose of The Dawning," Teacher replied, voice solemn. "It would be dangerous otherwise."

"You're telling me _that's_ not dangerous?!" Max gestured to where the woman had just barely evaded flames and was rolling away to try to get out of the Conqueror's range.

"If it eases your mind, young one, there have been only three deaths of all the challengers thus far, and those three chose to fight beyond injuries that would have been survivable had they been willing to accept defeat. The Lady-Queen Mujaji has done all within her power to preserve the lives of those who battle."

Suddenly there was a cry from the crowd. Max turned back in time to see the woman in the ring lose the second of her bladed weapons. She recoiled with empty hands from the Conqueror.

"Do you dare face me weaponless, or do you admit defeat?" the Conqueror asked.

The woman was looking around.

Max leaned to Teacher. "I thought being disarmed was an automatic loss."

"Only in the first round. For today and tomorrow, a loss of weapons provides a choice."

On the grounds, the woman turned and ran from the Conqueror for the edge of the circle. Max spotted another woman emerging from the crowd with a sword in her hands. Max felt an odd humming in the air as the pair approached the white line. When the challenger reached it and put her hand out, clearly expecting the sword to be handed to her, Max somehow knew what was about to happen.

The woman with the sword thrust it, pommel first, towards the white line. But it _bounced_ in midair as if she had tried to hand it through a solid wall. The challenger across the line froze, face pale but resigned.

"She cannot pass a weapon into the ring," Teacher explained. "The magic of the contract between challengers and Conqueror forbids it."

The woman turned back to the Conqueror and dropped her head. "I admit defeat."

"Smart," Max commented. "Better to lose face that way than at the end of that flaming staff."

"I entirely agree," Teacher said.

The next challenger to step up endured a full hour of combat, but ultimately was undone by the flames as the first had been and was carried, screaming, from the circle.

The fourth challenger was Norman.

Max watched, silent and tense, while the minutes ticked by. Norman had observed the first three challengers closely and was using his agility to keep his distance from the Conqueror rather than closing with him. He passed more than a third of his two-hour limit well out of range of the Conqueror and far enough from him that he was always able to dodge an incoming blast of fire before it could touch him.

The Conqueror's frustration grew with every missed attempt.

"You have angered me, challenger. And that rage only makes me stronger!"

The next blast was pure inferno, but Norman evaded it nonetheless.

One section of the reviewing stands might not have been so lucky, but the magic of the circle deflected it upwards so the only casualties were the pennants flying above in the morning light. The fire rather frightened the spectators, however, and many made hasty departures afterwards.

At the first hour-mark, Norman managed his first hit on the Conqueror, a ringing blow with his blade that knocked the monstrous being back a few steps while the fire in his staff faltered. But Norman did not press his advantage and instead backed off once more.

"You cannot turn your back on destiny!" shouted the Conqueror.

"I can try!" Norman replied.

"It's really quite clever," Teacher said after remaining silent for the entire hour of Norman's challenge. "He shows incredible patience. Most warriors would not be able to wait so long without striking back."

"Even though that's clearly a recipe for roasted challenger?" Max asked.

"Even though," Teacher nodded. "Your Norman displays wisdom beyond his years."

Max shrugged but smiled. "He's the best."

"It's possible you are correct."

With less than half an hour to go before the end of Norman's time, the Conqueror seemed to lose his own patience. Rather than attempt to get close enough to Norman, he planted himself in a fixed spot and attempted to drive Norman towards himself using the fire from his staff. Norman ducked and wove, even deflecting the flame with the flat of his sword at times.

"He has recognized it now," Teacher said.

"Recognized what?" Max asked.

"The Conqueror's weakness. He must have one; all opponents do. Norman has realized that the Conqueror cannot see clearly through the flames. Watch."

Max did. And an instant later, he knew what Norman was going to do as well.

Norman was charging laterally while the Conqueror blasted fire in a broad swath. But when the flames flared between his eyes and Norman's position, Norman adjusted his angle of attack. Deflecting the worst of the fire with the flat of his sword, he dashed towards the Conqueror at full speed. The Conqueror was still moving the staff, having lost Norman behind the wall of fire, and suddenly Norman was clear of the flames and within range.

Norman raised his sword and struck a vicious blow, cutting the fire staff in half.

"All right Normie! Way to go!" Max cheered.

The Conqueror shouted, incoherent with fury, and struck out with the now smoking but flame-less halves of his weapon, but he could not defeat Norman in the time that remained. When the two hours ended, the Conqueror turned his back to Norman.

"Return at dawn tomorrow for your third battle, challenger," he said as the staff of flame repaired itself for the next challenger. "You will not survive the final test."

"We'll see," Norman told him with a smirk.

Heedless of the cheering that followed him, Norman left the circle and moved to Max.

Max's face was bright and alight with a grin that could put the sun to shame. "Wow! That was amazing, Normie! You really showed him!"

Norman wanted to raise the shield on his helmet to smile at his boy, but he recalled how precarious his position remained with Skullmaster and opted to let it lie. But he clasped a hand over Max's shoulder.

"Come on," he said. "I'm starving. I could eat the Conqueror for breakfast."

Max laughed. "I bet!"

As they strode through the crowd and the fifth challenger stepped up for their turn, Norman caught the shiver that ran through Max when the challenger in the ring was burned and cried out. While true that Norman was rather hungry after his morning, far more prominent in his mind was his desire to get Max clear of the ring. The boy did not need to see anyone else fall to the Conqueror's vile flames.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, late again. Sorry sorry sorry! There are only 2 more chapters after this, so hopefully I'll get those in on time!
> 
> Enjoy!

This time, rather than risk returning to Skullmaster's borrowed estate, Max stored Norman's armor that doubled as a disguise in his little closet-room at the bakery – all but the sword and the bracer, neither of which Norman particularly wished to let out of his sight for the moment, though he little could have said why.

Once again looking only like a visiting warrior, he and Max moved anonymously through the crowds. They heard from the eager chatter throughout the city, however, that the remaining challengers were not faring well against the Conqueror, and that Norman might in fact be the only one to have endured the second day of The Dawning.

After they had eaten and Norman had stretched his exhausted muscles extensively, the pair of them were making their way towards one of the establishments where Max placed some of his thus-far mostly successful wagers laid when the hair on the back of Norman's neck rose in warning.

Norman had just enough time to grab Max and throw him aside before he was attacked from every angle.

Max stumbled into an empty market stall, righting himself a few moments later. He blinked in surprise at the sudden swarm of masked fighters that had appeared on the street from out of nowhere. They wore very non-descript brown clothing and their faces were uniformly covered with cloths that made it impossible to identify a single one.

But they were clearly intent on doing harm to Norman and that told Max all he needed to know.

Max reached into the market stall and came up with a long pole. Without a thought to his own safety, Max charged the nearest clump of the attackers and began to levy strikes left and right with all his strength.

"Even if you guys are from the Lame Bandits Guild, they must've really lowered their standards!" he yelled as his improvised staff caught one of the attackers under the chin and knocked him out cold.

"Grab him!" shouted one of the masked men.

Max immediately darted away from that end of the fight, releasing his weapon in order to fling himself under the legs of someone who was otherwise blocking his way. He also managed to tip two different bandits into one another before he was backed up into the thick arms of an opponent almost Norman's size.

"This isn't your fight, boy!" snarled one of the nearer masked warriors.

"It is now!" Max shot back angrily, kicking the closest kneecap he could reach. On the momentum of the swing, he lifted his body in the arms that held him and slammed backwards, his heels finding a gap in the armor that caused the one holding him to drop him with a hiss of pain.

Max started running for Norman.

"Stay back, Little One!" Norman shouted as he threw one of his own attackers into a wall.

"No way, buddy! You're my friend! The only way I'm not backing you up is when there's nobody left to fight!"

That pure loyalty galvanized Norman and he began to lash out like a hurricane, taking down bandits faster than they could close with him. Max found he could do the most good by tripping up those who were on their way to join the fray, often sending them careening into one another and putting them off-balance by the time they reached Norman's swinging fists. The pair of them were making such good work of their unexpected opponents (though Norman was clearly handling the lion's share of the battle) that Max began to hope they would be victorious.

And then another wave of them emerged from the shadows of the nearby buildings that were so mysteriously quiet. Max lost track of Norman in the shuffle as he focused on keeping himself out of the hands that always seemed to be reaching for him. But he could not help but hear the roar of denial and fury from his friend a moment later.

"Give me back my sword, _you coward_!"

Max broke from a knot of attackers to see the back of someone in brown fleeing and carrying Norman's father's sword with him. Norman up-ended a pile of the bandits and began to take off after the thief.

Max started to run after him, but a powerful arm shot out from the side and grabbed him around the waist.

Max yelped in sudden fear. "Help!"

Norman skidded to a halt and turned just as the mountainous man who had caught Max pulled the boy to his chest with biceps that could have held up the royal palace. He neatly pinned Max's arms against his sides with one arm and then clapped a meaty hand over the boy's mouth.

Max spit on him just out of spite, but the bandit failed to notice.

Norman's eyes went almost red with unrestrained rage. " _Let him go or die_."

Even Max trembled at his voice. But then he realized that the bandit carrying the sword was getting away. He tried frantically to gesture for Norman to go after it, to get the sword back. _If he doesn't, not only does he lose his father's sword that means so much to him, but he won't have it against the Conqueror tomorrow. I'm not worth that much!_

The attacker restraining him spoke in a low voice that carried in the suddenly silent street.

"The boy or your sword. Choose."

Norman lowered his shoulders and dropped into a feral crouch. " _I said let him go_."

"You choose the boy?"

" _Last chance_."

Max could have sworn the bandit huffed as if amused. He couldn't see his face from his angle, but he must have smirked mockingly at Norman or something similar, because Norman charged with the speed of a wild stallion.

When Norman was within a few yards, the bandit actually hurled Max at him as though Max were a sack of potatoes. Max let out a very undignified squeak of surprise.

But Norman caught him gently and pulled him safe against his shoulder. "Are you hurt?" he asked sharply.

Max shook his head. "No. I'm okay. But…"

"Don't," Norman said. "It's done."

Max looked up. The bandit who had held him had vanished and there was no sign of a single masked attacker anywhere on the street. Even those rendered unconscious were gone.

"Your sword!" Max exclaimed. "They took it!"

"I know," Norman nodded. He carefully set Max on the ground.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…" Max began.

Norman smiled and ruffled his hair fondly. "I shouldn't expect anything else from you by now. It's not your fault, Little One. I should never have let them defeat me."

"But there were a ton of them and only one of you!" Max protested.

"And normally I can handle twice as many," Norman replied with a little smugness. "But two hours against the Conqueror is a bit much even for me."

Max rubbed his neck and sighed. "I guess. I'm just...I'm sorry, Normie. Even if it isn't my fault, it's still gone."

Norman nodded. But he put a hand on Max's shoulder and steered him back down the street in the direction from which they had come. "You're safe and I'm not giving up on it. It's possible we can find it again after The Dawning is over. For now, let's just get to where there are more people in case our friends decide to come back."

"Yeah, it's weird that there was nobody else here," Max looked around thoughtfully.

"Not weird. Planned."

"That is _so_ much worse."

"I know."

After they vanished around a corner, the thief carrying the sword emerged from the hiding place that had been within earshot of everything all along.

"Well! Not what I expected at all!"

A robed figure joined him. "I know. I'm rather pleased. Aren't you, Hanuman?"

Hanuman, still heavily disguised, nodded. "Very. And I can hear Beowulf laughing somewhere. 'Last chance' indeed!"

"We're lucky he didn't give us away. But we could hardly leave him behind."

"That would only result in hours of sulking, and there's nothing more irritating than watching someone so big moping around. Anyway, now that it's over, what are you going to do with that?" Hanuman asked as he handed over the sword.

His old friend accepted it gravely, bearing it with surprising comfort given that it was longer than himself. "I will hold this until the time is right."

They let Max and Norman go on their way and returned to the palace.

-==OOO==-

For the rest of the afternoon, Max and Norman stayed in public places, both watching over their shoulders as if their masked attackers would return at any time. But none did. They did not attempt to return to the tournament grounds, instead learning from passersby that all other challengers had been eliminated, all but the mysterious one from the morning. Max was both relieved to learn that no challengers had died against the Conqueror today, though many would bear the fire scars for life, and incredibly proud of Norman.

"You're gonna do it!" he told Norman with a confident grin. "You're gonna make it to Lady-Queen Mujaji and she'll set you free!"

"I'm not sure," Norman said a little cautiously, "but I am beginning to believe you."

It was nearing sunset when Norman felt the call, the summons from Skullmaster that drew him against his will to his enforced master.

"I have to go," he told Max.

Max looked up in alarm. "What is it? Those guys aren't coming back, are they?"

"I don't think so, Little One. I think they have what they wanted," and he felt fairly dispirited as he said it. "Skullmaster wants me."

Max fell into step beside him. "Are you going to be okay?"

Norman tried to shrug nonchalantly, but Max instantly frowned and shook his head.

"Don't give me that easy 'it'll be fine' stuff, Normie. Tell me the truth. Are you going to be okay?" he insisted.

Norman sighed. "I don't know. I have my hand, and the spelled cuff is back at the estate, but the sword will be missing. Skullmaster isn't stupid. He's going to guess."

"And what if he does?" Max wanted to know.

Norman closed his eyes briefly. "I don't...think it will be particularly pretty, Little One."

Max nodded and set his shoulders. "Then I'll come with you."

" _No_!" It came out sharp and unexpected. Norman recovered quickly. "No, Max. I don't want you anywhere _near_ Skullmaster, no matter what happens." He actually paused in his walking long enough to catch the boy by the elbow and force him to face him. "Promise me."

"But Normie!"

"Promise me."

Max's forehead creased. "Why are you so worried?"

Norman swallowed a sudden coldness. "Skullmaster took everything from me – my father, my people, my life. He can order me to do anything, anything at all, any time he wishes. He doesn't because I think he enjoys watching me fear it more than commanding me directly. I can't...let him hurt you, or make me hurt you. I can't let him do to you what he's done to me."

Almost a whisper, "I can't let him take you away, too."

Max nodded and patted Norman's arm. "Okay, buddy. I get it. I promise I won't get too near him until this is all over." His gaze sharpened. "But someday, when you're free, I _am_ kicking him in the shins for you. Okay?"

Norman smiled. "If there's anything left to kick when I'm done with him, sure."

Max walked beside Norman all the way to the walls of the estate. Before Norman went inside, Max gave him a quick, fierce hug. "Be careful, okay?"

Norman nodded. "You too." He smiled at his young friend. He knew all too well that Max would not be far from the estate for a while yet. Even if Max kept his promise, no force could keep him from the duty it seemed he had appointed himself – watching over Norman's battles to offer support however he was able.

Norman strode into the grounds of the estate with his head up. But as he reached the house, he realized he still wore Max's bracer on his right arm. With nowhere to hide it, he pulled it off and rolled up one leg of his trousers. He lashed it to his ankle just above his boot before concealing it under the cloth once more. He had little illusion it would protect him should Skullmaster have uncovered his participation in The Dawning, but it might spare the bracer the demon's wrath.

Inside the house, he followed the power that pulled at him to where Skullmaster sat in the banquet hall.

"I do not know if you are more clever than I have given you credit for, or vastly more stupid," Skullmaster said, slowly rising from his seat as though it were his throne. "But you will pay for trying my patience."

Norman said nothing.

"Have you accomplished your tasks? Do you know the strengths of all remaining challengers?"

Norman nodded, a short, jerky gesture pulled out of him unwillingly.

"So you are not a _complete_ failure," Skullmaster said. He loomed over Norman. "But then, since _you_ have proved a better challenger than all others, it does not matter who they are or where they come from anymore. This _entire plan_ has been ruined by your arrogance!"

Skullmaster backhanded Norman sharply and Norman fought not to stumble under the blow.

"Do you know why we came here to Intuition for The Dawning?"

Norman didn't bother to answer, spitting blood from where his cheek had split against his teeth.

"I surmised that The Dawning was, in truth, a test of sorts. It has all the indications of a rather ingenious plan by an ancient enemy of mine. We came in order to find him and to determine if he is truly after what I believe he seeks. But none have seen him, and the only challenger of any consequence to rise is _you_ , boy."

He struck again, the other side of Norman's head this time. Norman reeled but kept his balance after an effort.

"Because of your interference, I will be unable to use this opportunity to ascertain if my suspicions are correct. I have lost my prey, boy, and _I do not like to lose_!"

This last was roared and Norman's back hit the floor from the savage blow.

"I should order you to kill anyone you have spoken to this day and then end your own miserable life," Skullmaster leaned over him, smiling an evil smile. "I should, but that might draw more attention than it is worth. If my ancient enemy is here, I do not want to give him cause to move against me. Or else I would have razed this city to the ground!"

Norman gulped against the cold fear that had blossomed at that threat. But he could not let anything show on his face. If Skullmaster suspected for even an instant that Norman had made a true friend in Intuition, Skullmaster might kill Max just to watch Norman's pain.

_If Max hadn't been clever enough to only wear the page uniform to the tournament, he might have realized the boy was always with me. But even Skullmaster doesn't notice pages and servants and slaves unless they give him reason. Max's own wit has probably saved his life._

"Instead, I will punish you as I ought to have at the first hint of your disobedience." Skullmaster turned away. Then he bellowed, "Assemble in the back courtyard!"

Norman was jerked to his feet by the force of the order. He was scarcely aware of the passage through the house trailing after Skullmaster's swirling purple cape from a bout of sudden dizziness, no doubt brought on by the hits he had already sustained to the head. When he could make sense of his surroundings again, Norman realized he was surrounded on all sides by the demons and half-demons who had populated the estate, Warmonger and Lavalord passing around torches to light the courtyard brightly.

"You should have learned your lesson years ago, but now I will teach you the meaning of pain anew!"

With that, in full view of every demon of his retinue, Skullmaster began beating Norman viciously. Norman could not even raise his arms to defend himself against the blows that battered and broke him because of the magic that held him enslaved. But he did not cry out, not once, no matter the hurt from Skullmaster's attack. Nor did he ever flinch nor cower nor turn away.

Until he caught sight of a pale face peering over the wall across the garden illuminated by the torchlight .

Knowing that Max was watching his torment, Norman bowed his head in shame.

On the wall, Max scrubbed angrily at the tears that threatened to fall. Skullmaster was killing Norman, and it was all his fault. _If only I'd never talked him into entering The Dawning. I've gotta do something. I don't know what, but something. I've got to save him!_

Inspiration struck. Max stared blazingly at Norman, willing his friend to understand. _I'll be back, buddy. Just hang in there._

And then Max dropped from the wall and went tearing into the city. He had only run a mile or so when he stopped in the shadow of a vast, ancient tree some distance from the nearest house or building. The silence of the night was eerie compared to the jeering shouts of Skullmaster's minions and the blood roaring in Max's ears.

Max looked up into the tree, his heart pounding. "Teacher. You said you'd find me if I needed you. Well I sure need you now. I...I got Norman hurt. It's bad. You said you'd help us. You promised!" This last was a strangled shout.

"Ask and you shall receive," came the familiar voice. From a nearby shadow, the robed form of Teacher approached. "I am here."

"Teacher! Please! Skullmaster is going to beat Norman to death if we don't do something!" Max cried.

Teacher's head shook beneath the robe. "Skullmaster will not kill him. You must trust me on this. But he will hurt him. And we must be prepared to help him or the morning's continuation of The Dawning will mean his end."

"So what do we do? Just leave him there?" Max demanded.

"For now," Teacher replied. "But Skullmaster will tire of him soon. And then there is something only you can do."

"Anything. What is it?"

"When Norman is left alone, you must bring him to me. If you can get him past the wall of Skullmaster's assumed estate, I will have a cart waiting. I can heal him, but not within the bounds of Skullmaster's domain."

Max stared at Teacher. "How am I supposed to move him? He's gotta have every bone most of the way to broken by now. And there's all those guards!"

"I know it is difficult," Teacher intoned with maddening calm, "but only you can do this and you must succeed. If you do, I will be able to cure any injury done to your friend before dawn."

Max clenched his hands into fists but nodded. "Okay. It's a deal. You just be ready with that cart, okay?"

And without waiting for an answer, he sprinted back to the estate and to the wall that had given him his vantage point. Though he had only been gone a matter of minutes, when Max again fixed his eyes on his friend, he thought he might be ill. Norman barely looked alive at all; he had been reduced to bleeding and broken misshapen limbs and a face gone purple and almost black. And still Skullmaster struck again. And again. And again.

After what felt like an eternity, Skullmaster stopped his ruthless beating. He pointed to a refuse pile in a corner of the grounds. "Drag him there. I do not want his body fouling up the house."

Max bit both his cheeks to keep from yelling his full feelings at such cruelty to keep from giving his position away. But Skullmaster had chosen a spot quite near the estate wall, far nearer than Max had hoped. The refuse pile was even deeply shadowed by trees on both sides of the wall. Still, he winced as the demons dragged Norman there, his limp limbs catching on rocks and bushes and clearly adding to the pain he was suffering.

The instant the demons had returned to the circle of fire in the grounds adjacent to the house, Max dropped down the wall and dashed to Norman's side.

"Normie! Buddy! Speak to me!" he whispered urgently.

Norman coughed weakly but cracked one swollen eye open. "Little...One?"

"Listen, I know you're hurt bad, but you gotta trust me on this, okay? If you can get over the wall, there's something I can do to help you. But you're too big for me to carry."

Norman gamely attempted to raise his head, but it flopped back on the smelly pile after only a few trembling moments of effort. "I...cannot. Go...Little One. Get away…"

"Not a chance!" Max told him fiercely. "I got you into this and I'm gonna get you out of it. Just hang in there, okay?"

Max hunted around the pile of waste until he found a sturdy cord. He tied this around Norman's waist. Then, letting it out cautiously, he returned to the wall. The cord was just long enough to loop around a thick tree-branch before falling most of the way to the ground.

"Teacher?" Max whispered.

"I am here."

"Bring that cart over. We're going to need it to get Norman out of there," Max said. In spite of the dark, the stars and distant torches cast enough light that he could see a flat, open cart stacked with some kind of cloth or cushions backing up towards him. Max was grateful to see that it was drawn by two strong-looking horses.

Working quickly, Max tied the very end of the rope around the horses' hitch. "Now get them to pull us up, okay?"

"Us?" Teacher asked.

"I gotta ride with him to make sure he doesn't get bumped on the way," Max said. Before Teacher could object, Max was back up and over the wall.

"It's gonna be okay, Normie. Just a little more," Max said. Then he grabbed onto the cord just above where it was affixed to his friend and held on tightly.

The initial jerk of the rope almost caused Max to topple onto Norman's already-broken chest, but he held on, though he could feel his palms slice open against the rough cord. After a few shaky seconds, the cord began to pull and Max and Norman were swinging in the air.

The wall loomed and Max bent almost double to get a leg between the unforgiving stones and Norman's head. He heard a sickening crunch when Norman's full weight drove into his knee, but Norman barely grunted, dangling from the rope like a doll. Max grit his teeth and kept his legs between Norman's helpless body and the rock wall no matter how it scraped and bruised. By the time they were high enough to clear the wall, Max wasn't quite sure his legs would hold him anymore.

"Teacher!" he hissed from the tree. "Get the cart under us!"

Max could see that Teacher had been taking up the slack in the rope and looping it around a nearby tree-stump, so when he pushed the cart into position it saved Max and Norman from a nasty drop. Max slid to stand on the wall, one knee screaming pain at him; he ignored it. Carefully, as if handling the fate of the kingdom, he nudged Norman's body until it hung over the cart.

"Okay. Let out the slack slowly," he ordered.

Teacher did so, carefully playing out the rope a handspan at a time. Norman never even twitched when his abused body landed in the flat back of the cart on the pile of softness.

"Get down here yourself," Teacher whispered. "You're coming with us."

"You bet I am," Max replied. He couldn't quite bite back his own groan of pain as he let himself down the wall, and before he was on the ground again Teacher was beside him.

"You've hurt yourself," Teacher said, voice chiding.

"Not as bad as Norman," Max said, shaking a little and hobbling over to the cart. "You said you'd help him if I got him this far, and I did. So help him already!"

Teacher nodded. "As you wish. I advise that you lie down in the cart beside Norman. It will rest your own injuries better."

Max crawled into the cart and stretched out beside Norman, checking to ensure his friend was still breathing. Then he leaned up on one elbow. "Where are you taking us?"

"It doesn't matter," Teacher said. "What matters is that you will both be safe there until dawn."

"Okay," Max sighed. He closed his eyes, but wiggled around until he could press an arm against Norman's bulk. "Just a little more, buddy. Hang on."

-==OOO==-

Max must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was lying in a bed in a windowless room as bright as daylight with the many lanterns lit on every surface. As soon as he came fully awake he almost tipped sideways off the bed but was stopped by Teacher's robe-covered hands.

"Hold still, Max. Your own injuries are healing, but the potion needs time to work."

"I'm fine. Where's Norman?" Max asked urgently.

"Calm yourself. He is just there."

Teacher moved aside and Max could see that Norman had been laid on a cot in the same room. What remained of his shirt had been pulled off, and his skin had obviously been washed, for no more blood and dirt was streaked across him. In fact, as Max looked, he realized there were no open cuts at all.

"He has been given a powerful healing draught," Teacher explained. "It has already closed the worst of his wounds and continues to work inward. Before dawn, he will have not so much as a bruise and he will wake feeling much better."

Max stumbled off his own cot. The knee he had hurt felt weak and shaky, though no longer painful, so he was grateful for the supporting arm Teacher wrapped around him to help him to Norman's side. When he was closer, his eyes widened in surprise.

"The scar. Skullmaster's brand. It's...fading."

"Yes," Teacher nodded. "The potion will cure his older wounds as well. By dawn, he will no longer bear the mark of Skullmaster."

Max frowned and turned to the mysterious hooded figure. "A healing potion like that has to cost a fortune. And it would be really rare besides. Where did you get it?" Then, remembering, he added, "And how did you know for sure that Skullmaster wouldn't kill him?"

"As to your second question, my certainty was predicated on the variables of Skullmaster's rage, the amount of damage he would inflict, and Norman's ability to survive it. It is entirely possible that such a beating would kill a lesser man, and indeed might have killed Norman if left untreated all night. But the probabilities were strongly in favor that Skullmaster's fury would run its course before he decided to murder Norman outright, and anything short of that would have been survivable for the short amount of time it took me to bring him here."

Max could only blink at him.

"As to your first, I cannot give you a full answer now. Let it suffice for you to know that you are not the only party interested in Norman's well-being, nor the only one to watch over him. Should either of you have required assistance, there have been forces at our command to ensure it. We have been prepared for this possibility for longer than you can imagine."

"But why?" Max asked.

"I will tell you all when I can," Teacher said. "Until then, I suggest you rest. Norman will sleep until you wake him, which you should not until the hour before dawn. You will both need all your strength to face the coming day."

Teacher moved to one side and gestured to a table which was covered with a thin cloth.

"I believe this will go better if you reveal it to Norman rather than I. When he wakes, he will likely be disoriented at first. This may do much to settle his mind."

When Teacher swept the cloth away, Max could have shouted except he didn't want to disturb Norman.

Lying on the table was Norman's father's sword that they had both feared was lost.

A sheath waited beside it with a broad strap that would secure it across Norman's back. There was also a new shirt – black with a yellow circle in the center just like the one Max had patched for his friend. There was no helmet, but instead there was a broad shoulder-plate and a coil of armor that a warrior would wear on the length of one arm and shoulder to make that arm impenetrable to most strikes. There were also an assortment of gloves and other small bits of protective clothing. The armor was all brand new and of the highest quality.

"We found this strapped to his shin," Teacher said, drawing forth the blue bracer. "We believe he did not wish Skullmaster to find it, and he knew if he concealed it within the manor he might not be able to retrieve it."

Max took it with hands that trembled. It was only then that he realized his own abrasions were gone. He balanced the bracer in one hand so he could see the opposite palm and found not a scratch from the rope that had torn both his hands raw.

"Why...why did you do all this?" Max finally asked, lifting his eyes to Teacher's hooded head. "You got Norman's sword back, you took care of us, and you're giving him new armor. What...what's it gonna cost us for all this?"

"A wise question, young one. But I give you my word, this is nothing but your due. Do not fear these gifts. It is my honor to serve in this capacity."

Max felt unexpectedly like his chest was too tight and he turned away. "Thank you, Teacher," he said. "You didn't have to do any of this, and you're probably going to be the reason Norman doesn't die at dawn if not sooner. I...I can't pay this back, but I'll try."

"There is no need to try," Teacher said softly. He moved to the door of the room. "Just rest well and rise prepared for whatever tomorrow brings."

When Teacher closed the door softly behind himself, Max took a long look at his friend. He did not touch him because he didn't dare disturb him. He clutched the bracer tightly for a moment before setting it on the table with everything else.

"It's gonna be okay, big guy," Max said as much for himself as Norman. Then, suddenly tired and overwhelmed, he crawled onto his cot and curled into a ball where he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Outside the door, the hooded figure turned to the company of warriors who lined the very passageway, who were stacked shoulder-to-shoulder in every inch of the nondescript house just outside the palace grounds maintained by Lady-Queen Mujaji for exactly this purpose – when a secure location was required but for one reason or another the palace could not be used. Fully half the warriors who could be trusted in Intuition were within the house's walls or concealed on its grounds. Indeed, the queen herself was not so well protected this night.

"I will remain here," he said, gesturing to an armchair that had been carried to sit just outside the door to the room that was the focus of such defenses. "I am counting on you all to protect this place by any means necessary."

"Don't worry, old friend," came Hanuman's voice. He emerged from the shadows of a door just down the hall. "If they fail, we will not."

"Nothing will get past us tonight," Jonayayin said from where he was perched with a view out the window.

"Nothing would dare risk our wrath," Beowulf added, though he did not turn around from his spot at the opposite end of the hall. "And we will not risk Mujaji's by failing to guard them well."

"I believe you all," the still-disguised of their number said gratefully. "I only pray the Powers are with us until dawn and these precautions are for nothing."

"And what happens after that?" Beowulf asked his hooded friend. "What happens come The Dawning?"

He sighed and settled into his chair for the night with more than a little trepidation in his heart. "Destiny will prove true – one way or another."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am getting this up JUST in time. In Central Time. Any earlier timezones...sorry.
> 
> Enjoy!

Norman woke to a firm touch on his ankle. "Normie?"

Instinct drove him upright, his hands braced to attack or defend before he'd so much as opened his eyes. Even upon seeing Max there, he did not relax his vigilance, though he turned his search for danger outward. But they were alone in a wooden room Norman had never seen before.

"Where are we? What happened?"

"Skullmaster was beating you to a pulp. Do you remember that?" Max asked nervously.

Norman nodded. "Yes. And then you were there. But after that…" He shrugged.

"Well, I had a...friend come and help me get you out of there. You should feel okay now after the stuff they gave you last night. And we have time to get to The Dawning, too." Max was starting to fidget.

Norman frowned, feeling no pain at all anywhere in his body. He looked down at himself – and froze.

"The mark is gone."

"Yeah," Max nodded. "The potion they gave you cleaned up any of your old injuries. Uh, including that one, I guess."

It was a heady and totally unexpected turn of affairs and Norman forced himself to breathe slowly for a few moments.

Max perched on the edge of the bed beside him. "I can't imagine what that feels like, but I'm happy for you that it's gone."

Norman looked at the boy with wonder. "It's because of you that this has been done for me."

"Oh, no," Max put up his hands. "I get _no_ credit for this one, big guy. I don't even know _how_ I got this one done. There's stuff nobody's saying yet. And stuff that doesn't make any sense. Like how the people who helped us got that equipment for you." He gestured to the table.

Norman's own suspicions grew even as the ache in his chest lessened when he saw his father's sword waiting for him. But all he said was, "Whatever this mystery, The Dawning has to come first." Then he smiled at his young friend. "Don't worry, Little One. Whatever game they're playing, I'll protect you."

"I know that," Max smiled with honest relief. "I'm not worried about _you_ , you big lug. Just everything _else_."

"Well, save it for after the fight," Norman said. "Don't borrow trouble when I've got enough to do already." He smiled and Max managed to relax a little.

_Whatever has happened_ , Norman thought to himself, _it has rattled him. I must be steady now, steadier than ever, to keep his fear at bay._

Norman rose out of bed feeling amazingly well. In fact, he felt stronger than ever before, stronger and more balanced. He supposed that if the potion which had saved his life – for he well knew the undeniably fatal intent of Skullmaster's beating – had the power to heal a burned scar over two decades old, it might also repair broken bones and other injuries he had taken in those two decades which had never been properly cared for by anyone in the Skull Mountains. Norman rotated his left arm, always a little weaker after it had been horribly dislocated by Warmonger in a bout several years prior, and found it was as sound as the other side.

Norman felt as if he had been reborn.

Together, Max and Norman outfitted Norman in the various pieces of armor on offer. Norman noted slyly that there was only a shoulder-guard on the right and the banded arm armor for the left – precisely the configuration he'd have chosen for himself given any option in the world, but up until this point he had never worn either type. In fact, he'd been wearing a helmet and chest-plate, neither of which he liked and neither of which were present as options.

Norman wondered who had watched him in the previous two rounds of The Dawning closely enough to anticipate his preferences so accurately and could understand Max's overall nervousness at the situation.

Under the shoulder-guard, Norman discovered another chain like the one he had put around his waist, this one as blue as the bracer and clearly made of the same strange metal. He fixed it around his waist once more – not as armor this time, but a reminder of Max, to whom he was truly and willingly bound, and of the vow he had made to protect him.

Max himself buckled on the blue bracer, and its weight was as comforting to Norman as Max's friendship and loyalty. Norman looked down at Max at his side and knew he was, in this instant and for the first time in his life, exactly everything he ever wished he could be, and precisely where he wanted to be.

When they were finished and Norman slid his father's sword home in the sheath on his back, he felt as though the pieces of himself had tightened, had been refined like a blade forged in flame.

"Need breakfast, big guy?" Max asked.

But Norman shook his head. He was too focused to eat.

"Then I guess we better head out." Max put his hand on the latch of the door. He turned back, and the clear trust in his eyes that Norman was inches behind him made his self-appointed protector smile. They exchanged no words, but Max pulled open the door and strode through it fearlessly. After all, what was there to fear with Norman looking like the world's best warrior on his heels?

Max and Norman discovered that they were in a small house on the edge of the palace grounds. Norman's keen senses and experience told him that the house had only been very, very recently abandoned. He would have wagered that even an hour prior there had been others within the house. Protecting them? Why and from what? Or keeping them from leaving? Again, why? He could only guess and right now he had more important things to consider.

Like how to survive this last bout with the Conqueror.

Max was already in his page uniform which he had not changed out of yesterday and so had no trouble walking beside Norman onto the grounds of The Dawning with a few minutes to spare before the sun properly rose. The pair were the object of much attention and even a low cheer from those in the stands. After all, Norman was the only challenger remaining. But Norman's eyes were all for Max.

"Max," Norman said quietly, turning to his friend. "I don't know how today will end."

"Sure you do, big guy," Max told him. "Three hours from now, you're going to walk back out of there and go talk to Lady-Queen Mujaji and be freed once and for all. That's the only thing that matters."

"It's not," Norman said. He dropped to one knee before the boy. " _Everything_ has mattered up to now. And if I do not walk back out, I want you to know that."

Max's smile went a little brittle. "Don't you die on me big guy. Okay?" He reached out and put his hands on the blue bracer.

Norman put his hand over both of Max's smaller ones and held them tightly. "I give you my word, Little One, I will do my best to come back for you."

_And then neither one of us will ever be alone again._ He did not say it; he could see it shining in Max's eyes as clearly as he was sure it stood in his own.

The sun rose and Norman felt the tug in his abdomen summoning him into the circle. He rose and strode forward.

A familiar and terrible voice cried out.

" _Boy_!"

Skullmaster emerged from the crowd, leaping from the reviewing stands to the ground where he began to charge towards Norman angled to intercept him before he reached the magical barrier.

_His control over me ends once I am within the circle_ , Norman remembered, and he broke into a sprint.

Norman was just stepping over the white line, the rising sun touching the sands for the final battle of The Dawning, when Skullmaster appeared behind him. As if moving in slow motion, Norman crossed the magical barrier, but in the instant before he was fully within the boundary, Skullmaster tore his father's sword from its sheath and pulled it away.

Norman whirled in place. "Give it back!"

"Do not think to give me orders, _boy_!" Skullmaster roared. "I have suffered your insolence long enough! You should have been grateful when I spared you yesterday. Now you will pay with your life!"

Norman would have bolted from the magical circle to confront him, except that the binding was absolute. He could no more cross back over the white line than he could have run through a wall a mile thick. He was dully aware of the Captain of the Guard charging for Skullmaster, a huge force at her back and all of them angry.

Skullmaster lifted the sword in his two bony fists.

And with a snarl of hate, he snapped the blade in two.

Norman let out a scream of rage for his father's legacy destroyed in the hands of the same monster who had killed him. He pounded on the magical barrier as though his fury could break it down.

Skullmaster dropped the broken pieces of the sword with a final sneer to the ground and turned, cape flapping, to leave before the Guard could reach him. His many retainers and demons flowed after him, most of them yelling taunting, derisive things at Norman. Stunned, no one of the crowd attempted to prevent them, though the Guards pursued them loudly beyond the farthest reviewing stand.

But Max felt an urgent tugging at his side and looked down, quickly wiping away his tears of fury and sorrow on behalf of his friend. "Teacher?"

"He has broken the pact between them," Teacher said quickly. "Skullmaster has severed their contract irrevocably by willingly breaking the sword. If Norman survives the Conqueror's final test, he will be free."

"But how can he survive?" Max asked. "He doesn't have a weapon. He's got no way to defend himself!"

"I don't know," Teacher admitted. "But if there is a way, you must find it."

"Me?"

"Yes, Max. _You_."

The dawn struck fully and the Conqueror rose from the center of the ring, a heavy, metallic mallet in each hand. "Challenger! As the ancient ones decreed, The Dawning is almost over!"

Then he peered at Norman and snarled. "You come with no weapon. Do you wish to surrender to your fate and die?"

Norman froze. His father's sword was gone. Maybe…

"Don't you _dare_ , Normie!" came Max's bright yell. "You _promised_ me!"

It shook sense back into Norman and he adjusted his stance. "No way, Conqueror. I'm not done yet!"

"Soon enough, challenger! Soon enough!"

And the Conqueror raised both mallets. When he brought them down upon the ground in a mighty slam, the earth shook and there was a sound like thunder. An impossibly deep crack opened at the point of impact and raced to Norman's very feet. Norman was only barely able to leap out of the way before plummeting down into the abyss.

"How's Norman supposed to beat _that_?" Max demanded. "He can't even get close!"

Teacher remained silent.

Norman used the gap torn in the earth to rip a boulder almost the size of his own middle from the chasm and threw it at the Conqueror with all his strength. The Conqueror struck the boulder with one mallet and it crumbled to pebbles.

"You cannot cheat the fates, challenger! Your time has come!"

The Conqueror let loose another strike of the mallets and Norman scarcely evaded being swallowed by the very earth.

The ground within the magical ring was not the only place that was shaking, however. One of the reviewing stands began to wobble precariously as its wooden supports cracked and creaked. The crowd seemed to realize that the danger to them this time was real and many fled, creating a wave of stampeding, panicked people. The warriors who were in attendance could not keep order around themselves and soon civilians were charging everywhere and crushing everything in their way in their haste to escape.

"Norman!" Max cried. He tried to push forward through the crowd so he could still see the battle, but long before he reached the edge of the magical barrier he was swept up in the momentum of the people.

"Look out!" Teacher managed to get to Max's side, but neither of them was of a size enough to resist the pull of the crowd. They elbowed and fought their way out of the stream of the stampede, but every moment threatened their footing and they knew that if they fell, they could be easily trampled and killed before anyone could reach them.

Within a few terrifying seconds, Max and Teacher found themselves trapped between the wooden side of one reviewing stand and the crush of bodies trying to fight past them. Max felt himself being drawn beneath the stampeding feet and let out a cry.

"Hang on, kid!"

And suddenly a grip at the back of his page's uniform yanked Max up above the crowd. He felt himself being hoisted onto the deserted stand above. When he looked at his rescuer, Max almost tipped over the edge again with surprise.

"You!"

"Not the time," his rescuer said. Then, wrapping one foot around the nearest railing, the monkey-man leaned down again, stretching to his full length in order to snag Teacher's robes and haul the mysterious figure to safety as well. It could not have been done by anyone human – but the primate frame granted strength and agility, to say nothing of the tail that was lashed onto a second railing for balance.

"Thank you, Hanuman," Teacher said breathlessly as the monkey-man bent double to set the smaller figure beside Max. "You have impeccable timing as always, old friend."

But Max was staring at him. "You're Hanuman? But...I know you!"

"I know you do, young one. But there's no time for that now. Look to the challenger!"

Max pulled his eyes from the distinctive face he recalled so well and forced himself to remember Norman's own plight. To his horror, Norman was scrabbling at the edge of one of the fissures that had opened in the ground and the Conqueror was splitting apart the uneven towers and falls of earth to forge a path closer to his helpless opponent.

_He's going to die_ , Max thought with sudden stillness. And then he shook his head as denial rose up in him like a wildfire.

"I've got to help him!"

"How?" Hanuman leaned close to him, eyes penetrating. "You can't hand anything through that barrier. According to the rules, the challenger can use any weapon he wants, but you can't give him one from here."

And Max _knew_. He couldn't have said _how_ he knew, but he _knew_. He turned to Hanuman. "Can you get me down there?" he asked, heart in his eyes.

Hanuman grinned brilliantly. "In two shakes of a monkey's tail!" He scooped up the boy and held him close to his furred chest with one arm.

Teacher was scrambling to his feet. "Hanuman! _You cannot possibly_!"

Hanuman wasn't listening and had already begun clambering around the stands and making acrobatic leaps towards the edge of the circle. Max managed to hang on and find the breath to yell to Teacher, "You're going to have to trust me this time!"

_I've been breaking magic rules all over the place the last few days. Or at least bending them. Hopefully I can bend these rules, too._

Teacher was still bellowing, and at his alarm several warriors who had been trying to control the crowd turned as if to impede Hanuman's trajectory, but he easily dodged them.

"Stop squawking, Virgil!" Hanuman called over the heads of everyone else. "You know as well as I do that this is what has to happen!"

"I completely and _utterly_ disagree!" Teacher shouted back.

When Hanuman deposited Max at the very edge of the white line, the boy only paused for a moment.

_Please let this work_.

And Max crossed the line into the circle.

He leaped from the relatively even ground at the edge of the barrier down to the lower shelf that gave way to a deep chasm and sped to his friend's side. "Hey Normie! I'm here to help you buddy!"

Norman looked up as the earth gave way under his feet again and felt a new fear stab through his heart. "No, Little One! I can't let you interfere!"

"Look, I've already been over it with that guy. The rules say you can use any weapon, and you've lost yours, so _I'm_ gonna be your weapon!" He dug his toes into the soft earth and wrapped both hands around Norman's nearest forearm, providing a solid anchor. Just then, the earth shook again and Norman would have fallen but for Max's unyielding support.

"I...guess I could use some help."

"You can thank me later, big guy." Max grinned. "Now come on!"

Max pulled with all his strength and Norman found enough purchase to push himself up out of the crack threatening to swallow him. The instant he was again on solid ground, Norman scooped up the boy and dove, just barely evading the incoming avalanche of another landform from the Conqueror. Without letting go of Max, Norman climbed a nearby pillar of earth and flung himself halfway across the circle to an area slightly concealed from the Conqueror for a moment.

"So what now? There's still more than two hours to go," Norman looked down at his smaller partner. He knew he should be curious how the barrier had given way so impossibly. He knew he should be raging that the boy was in such danger. And he knew he should wonder at the comfort he felt having Max near in spite of the danger to them both. But he didn't have time for any of those feelings, so he simply forged ahead.

"I've got an idea to either beat him or else make him spend all his time doing something other than trying to kill you, but it's gonna be tricky," Max answered. "You with me, buddy?"

Norman found a smile on his face. "To the end, Little One."

"Well, let's make sure that's a long way off. Now, I need you to get in range of the Conqueror and keep him distracted without falling down one of those cracks. Don't fight, just play decoy. Okay?"

Max pushed himself from Norman's grip and landed nimbly on his feet. He didn't even wait for Norman's response, instead dashing off to one side. Norman could only obey the plan put before him, so he charged the Conqueror directly and jumped to the parcel of ground upon which he stood.

"Yes! Come forth and die with honor, challenger!" the Conqueror roared. He crashed the mallets to the earth another time, but Norman was ready for that and dodged the splitting ground.

"Do you ever stop talking?" Norman asked as he landed in a nimble roll and darted sideways, drawing ever closer to the Conqueror. He could sense Max just beyond his peripheral vision, but Norman dared not even slide his eyes over to look for fear of alerting the Conqueror to the boy's presence.

The Conqueror roared in annoyance and lifted the mallets high. Norman was within an easy stride of him and knew that when this blow landed, he would not have time to dodge.

But he trusted Max.

The mallets began to fall.

And Max appeared out of nowhere and jumped on the Conqueror's back, flinging the thick white material of his page's tabard over the Conqueror's head while mid-swing. The Conqueror was so surprised and startled by the sudden blinding attack, he tumbled to the ground.

And as he instinctively reached to catch himself, the mallets he was forced to drop rolled practically to Norman's feet.

"Go for it, Norman!" Max yelled, jumping clear of the Conqueror with the speed of a fleeing rabbit.

The Conqueror ripped the tabard from his head in time to see Norman lift the mallets in his own hands.

"No! Those weapons are mine!"

"Not anymore!"

Norman brought them slamming to the ground himself, feeling the power thunder through them. The earth opened directly beneath the Conqueror and he fell away with a shrieking roar.

Norman moved to the edge of the cracked ground and looked down. The Conqueror had vanished from sight, lost in the shadows below. And Norman knew, even if he was not destroyed by the fall, the Conqueror would indeed need more than the remaining hours to reach the surface to continue again, as Max had hoped. Either way, the battle was over.

Norman had defeated the Conqueror.

An instant later, there was another roar – this one of approval. Norman looked up and realized that those who had not fled in the initial chaos, mainly the Guards and warriors beholden to the various monarchs present, were cheering for him. For his victory.

The magical circle vanished. Norman's hands closed on empty air as the mallets disappeared as well.

"You know what's funny?" Max asked quietly as he sidled up to Norman with a bright grin, retrieving his tabard from the ground.

"What's that?"

"Since Skullmaster broke your father's sword, he broke the pact binding you, too. You won, but you got the thing you really wanted before the fight even started. I guess you don't need to see the Lady-Queen anymore."

Norman stared at him, stunned. "I'm...free?"

Before he had time to think too heavily on that, Teacher was beside them. "Norman! Not only have you survived The Dawning, you have defeated the Conqueror! No one has _ever_ done that!"

Max crowed, "A record! Ha! I knew you had it in you, big guy!"

"I couldn't have done it without your help, Little One." Norman looked down at the boy and ruffled his hair fondly.

Max shrank a bit under the praise and the increasing crowd starting to close in around them. "Aw, hey. That's what friends are for!"

"I too am in your debt, Little One."

Everyone turned at the unexpected voice to see the Conqueror floating above one of the cracks of earth. Once his feet touched the ground, the chasms closed as if they had never been and the uneven ground was instantly smoothed. In spite of the presence of the deadly Conqueror, those who had remained charged onto the repaired sands in a celebratory rush, though they kept their distance for the moment.

Norman pulled Max behind him and put his hands up defensively. "The Conqueror!"

The Conqueror held out both hands. "Do not fear. I want to thank you, both of you."

"For what? Beating you?" Max asked.

"For freeing me. I was condemned to fight for all eternity until the mightiest warrior of all could defeat me. And that warrior is you."

He began to glow strangely. As he did, his armor faded, revealing a body mangled and broken thousands of times over. The evidence of his countless participations in The Dawning, of all the injuries he had taken that had never healed, it stood out in stark relief against the warm morning sunlight.

Norman relaxed his posture and nodded. The Conqueror was fading away entirely now, transparent as a ghost.

The crowd's cheering doubled in volume and they pressed closer to Norman and Max and Teacher, though those three kept their attention upon the Conqueror instead of the celebrants around them.

"In repayment for my own freedom, I restore what should be yours, challenger."

"Look!" Max pointed.

The broken pieces of Norman's father's sword hovered in the air, passing through the Conqueror's body and coming to rest before Norman himself. There was a flash of light and soundless thunder and the sword was suddenly whole once more, shining as though it had never been broken at all.

Norman reached out and gripped it with a throat too filled to speak.

"You truly are the mightiest warrior of them all," the Conqueror's voice sounded one last time. And then he was gone and the last whiff of magic in the air vanished around the gathered crowd.

A moment later, Teacher cleared his throat. "There is more truth in that statement than you know…"

"Before you start explaining everything, shouldn't we get inside?" Hanuman appeared beside him.

"He is quite correct," came a firm, commanding voice. The crowd around Max and Norman thinned as Lady-Queen Mujaji herself strode forward, flanked by Jonayayin and Beowulf. All three looked particularly stony-faced. "Enough has been risked this dawn. I cannot undo your foolishness, Hanuman, but I will at least see that any further nonsense is within the walls I can defend!"

Norman was too big to sneak away, but from his spot behind Norman, Max started edging backwards in an attempt to vanish into the masses. It wasn't so much that he was trying to abandon his friend as that he had a terrible sense of foreboding and he wanted to go somewhere quiet and think about things before he had to face it.

Max had worked himself almost entirely behind one of the Guards and was just slipping away when Beowulf's voice rang out.

"The boy! He must join us!"

Max started to run.

He didn't make it far – Beowulf's soldiers and Mujaji's Guard had him pretty tightly surrounded. Max found himself backed up against an enormous warrior armored head-to-foot who grabbed his shoulders and held on in spite of his struggles until Max cried out in pain at the tight grip.

And then there was a roar and Norman plowed through the crowd, flinging away anyone in his path and brandishing his sword. "Get away from him!"

Max took advantage of the distraction and chucked the tabard that was still in his hands up over the head of the soldier restraining him. When the man moved to protect his face, Max wriggled out of his grip and bolted straight for Norman. They met in the middle and Max was grateful to feel the familiar large hand pulling him against Norman's side protectively.

"Hold!" Mujaji's voice snapped through the air. "Back away from them at once!"

As the crowd opened up, the soldiers creating a wide margin around Norman and Max, it was Teacher who approached slowly.

"Listen to me, Norman. None of us wants to hurt Max. You do not need to protect him from us, though your courage is commendable. But he must be present for what needs to be explained."

Then he turned and Max wished he could see Teacher's eyes. "Max. When you have heard all, you will understand why we don't want you to run off on your own right now. We mean you no harm. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"I'll even make you a deal," Hanuman sauntered out of the assembled soldiers, his monkey-face and body on full display. "Come hear what we have to say, and I'll answer the questions I know you want to ask me."

"And you will not be moved from the side of the champion," Jonayayin said softly. "Even if you mistrust us, he will protect you."

Max looked up to Norman. "What do you think, big guy?"

Norman considered the boy he had tucked against his side. He was prepared to fight every man and woman present if necessary to keep Max safe, but he wasn't sure he could succeed, not after narrowly defeating the Conqueror and needing some time to get his full breath and strength back.

Not when he realized he recognized that set of arms and shoulders that he had only seen from afar before. That Beowulf himself, ruler of the northern kingdom, was the one who had threatened Max while a thief made off with Norman's sword the day before.

But Beowulf had not harmed Max. The sword had been returned. Teacher had saved his life.

And there was a yearning in Max's eyes, a need to understand. Norman could sympathize. He himself wanted a few answers.

Norman managed a small smile. "It's not every day four monarchs of the Seven Lands invite you in," he said. "We should at least give them a chance." Then, whispered close to the boy where none could hear, "I will protect you, Little One. I give you my word sworn on the freedom you have won for me."

Max nodded. With Norman at his back, supporting him but also ready to defend him, he was able to calm his fluttering heart. Somewhat. So he straightened up and faced the assembled soldiers and rulers with his head held high and his shoulders square. Then he smirked.

"Can there be breakfast?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! And then that's it from me for a long while for Mighty Max. There's a oneshot related to the Fate is a Gift series that I'll put in December, but now I'm going to be moving onto other fandoms for the rest of 2016. I hope something entertains you until then, but if not, I'll catch you at the end of the year!
> 
> Thanks for being with me on this journey, always.
> 
> Enjoy!

There was certainly breakfast.

After being escorted by dozens of Guards and warriors into the castle, Mujaji led the way to a small room for more informal dining, the table already spread with a morning feast. Norman and Max positioned themselves nearest a window (Norman fully prepared to dive out it with his boy if an escape were needed) and allowed the others to choose their seats. Mujaji sent every one of her Guards out of the room and gave orders that they were not to be disturbed for anything before she settled at one end of the table. Beowulf and Jonayayin sat across from Norman and Max, and Hanuman took up a position at the end of the room where he could see everything. Teacher took the chair beside Max.

An awkward silence descended.

"Eat, boy," Beowulf said at last. "You're too thin by half."

"You both should eat," Mujaji nodded. "We will speak."

Norman nodded and scooped some food from the table for himself and Max, quickly beginning to pack it away without ever letting up his vigilance.

Mujaji began.

"As you know, The Dawning was called by myself in order to identify any challenger who might be worthy to be considered Heir to my Dominion. You, Norman of the Norns, are the only challenger to have endured The Dawning in full. Indeed, you even defeated the Conqueror. With some help," she looked at Max.

"Hey, just because I jumped in doesn't mean you shouldn't count it as Norman's win," Max argued. "He did all the hard work."

"He did," Mujaji inclined her head, "and while your interference was rash, dangerous, and unprecedented, it was also not entirely unexpected considering the circumstances."

"Though you did nearly give Virgil a heart attack," Jonayayin said to Hanuman with some censure.

"Hey, it's not my fault I actually beat the All-Knowing Ancient One over there to the obvious conclusion for once," Hanuman shrugged easily while juggling fruit.

Max turned to Teacher. "He called you that before. That's your real name? Virgil?"

"Yes." And for the first time, Teacher reached up to push back the hood of his robes and reveal his face.

Max dropped the food he'd been holding. "You're a _chicken_!"

"Fowl actually," Virgil said daintily. "I am Virgil, one of the last survivors of Lemuria."

Indeed, the one who had remained hooded for all this time bore the features of a bird, from feathered skin and hands to a full beak instead of a mouth and nose. His eyes seemed fathoms deep and impossibly noble, which almost countered the comical absurdity of the rest of it.

"What's Lemuria?" Max asked, frowning.

"It's a land as far east as the sunrise," Norman said softly. "Said to exist long ago. It's a myth."

"It is _not_ a myth as you can plainly see," Virgil replied, managing to frown in spite of the beak. "But since it has been eons since Lemuria stood as a proud nation, I forgive you for your ignorance."

"Better start at the beginning, old friend," Hanuman said. "You're confusing them both."

"Oh, very well." Virgil turned his wise, kind eyes on Max and held the boy spellbound as much with his gaze as his words.

"Once, long ago, the wisest leaders of Lemuria received a terrible prophecy from the Powers themselves. They learned that one day a great evil would emerge, an evil so powerful it would endanger the very world and every living thing upon it. But the prophecy foretold that Lemuria would be long dead before such a disaster came to pass and therefore would be unable to prevent or combat it.

"However, they prophesied that a Chosen One would rise up, and he alone would have the power to protect the world and all its inhabitants and, eventually, to triumph against this evil.

"This Chosen One would not stand alone against it, however. He would be accompanied by a Guardian, the finest warrior in any land. For while the battle against evil would belong only to the Chosen One, there would be other battles, other dangers, and a Guardian would be needed in order to ensure the Chosen One's safety for the final confrontation to decide the fate of all life.

"In addition to the Guardian, I was chosen by fate to guide the Chosen One, to be his tie to his destiny and a source of wisdom and counsel on his journey. I am very old and have lived in this world since well before the fall of Lemuria. It was my duty to prepare the world inasmuch as I could for the arrival of the Chosen One and to ensure that the paths of destiny were not corrupted by those who would fear the Chosen One's powers.

"It was at my request that Queen Mujaji initiated The Dawning, for it became imperative for us to locate the Guardian. The time has come for the Chosen One to rise and circumstances demanded that the destined warrior who would protect him must be called into service quickly. The Dawning was a means for us to identify the Guardian, for he who could endure the challenge would be strong in ways not only of the body and the sword, but of the soul as well."

Norman was as still as a statue, hardly breathing.

Virgil turned to him. "You, Norman, are the Guardian. It has been foretold that you alone can protect the Chosen One on his quest and aid him as he battles for the fate of our world."

"Way to go, Normie!" Max cheered.

"For this reason," Jonayayin said, "it was necessary that we test you outside the realm of combat with the Conqueror. It was we who laid the ambush for you yesterday in which we threatened the boy and forced a choice upon you. We wished to understand if your pride as a warrior would overcome your loyalty to one under your protection."

"And you could not have responded better," Virgil said with warmth.

"Is that why you helped us afterwards?" Max asked.

"No. As Guardian, Norman is entitled to all the help we can provide him," Beowulf said. "It is our honor to defend him as he will defend the Chosen One."

Max blinked, then gulped. "Oh, hey…if that was you... Uh, sorry about spitting on you yesterday."

Beowulf just laughed.

But Norman looked at Max with a tight distressed expression. "Little One, I did not...I do not…"

Max took a breath and made himself smile, instantly understanding what was so hard for Norman to verbalize. "It's okay, big guy. I get it. You've got... _way_ better things to do than to hang out with me."

"Max…" Norman reached out but froze before he could touch the boy. He could feel them both breaking at the prospect of being separated now that they had found one another.

Max turned back to Virgil and his voice was steady if far too bright. "So where's this Chosen One now? He or she better be awesome if they get to hang out with my buddy instead of me."

It was Hanuman who spoke. "The legends said that the Chosen One would remain hidden from all but those with eyes keener than that of any man. When I, in my youth, was cursed with this monkey form, I knew then that it meant I would be one of the few to know the Chosen One for who he was on sight, other than Virgil himself, of course. I met him when he was but an infant.

"The Chosen One had been traveling with a company of traders and entertainers. I do not know if they were his true family or if they had found him as I found him later. But they had all been killed by mysterious means. I came upon their campsite and discovered one solitary thing living at the center of a scorch mark that had destroyed everything else for yards. The Chosen One had been spared by some miracle, or perhaps by the Powers themselves.

"I took him away from the scene of such destruction, but I knew I could not keep him with me. My Land in the east is too close to the Barrens and too many evils dwell there. The Chosen One would be forever on the edge of a warfront, and I would not be able to protect him, not only from danger, but from a life lived under the threat of it. So I entrusted him to someone worthy without revealing his true identity to her and sent them to live here in Intuition. Mujaji's lands are guarded by ours and bordered by the Great Sea, and so her people have less to fear from evil here."

Max had gone very, very pale.

It was Virgil who spoke next.

"The Chosen One was never lost to us, though none but myself and Hanuman knew of his identity at first; Hanuman summoned me as soon as he had sent the Chosen One and his surrogate mother on their journey, and I quickly followed after them. When I arrived in Intuition to watch over him, however, I made myself and the fact of his existence known to Queen Mujaji though not his name. She has graciously housed me for all these years while I kept an eye on the Chosen One to ensure his safety. However, we did not wish to burden him with the reality of his destiny until he was old enough to face it, so we left him to live a peaceful life unmolested by evil."

Max was shaking his head. "No." It was barely a whisper.

"Last winter solstice," Virgil continued, his voice gentling, "the person Hanuman had trusted to guard the Chosen One was killed. It was made to look like simple thievery, but I knew the signs were clear. The forces of evil were drawing near to the Chosen One as they had in his infancy, and they had struck in an attempt to force him out into the open.

"It was for this reason that I imposed upon Queen Mujaji to hold The Dawning. The Chosen One had never been in such danger, and it was imperative to find the Guardian quickly that he might be protected."

Max was still shaking his head and gripped the edge of the table with hands gone white. "No," he croaked again.

"We could not have anticipated that you would find one another on your own," Mujaji said carefully. "Nor could we be more grateful for it. Acting together, you have done more than either of you could have survived alone."

Max was starting to tremble a little, and Norman broke out of his own paralysis to put a large hand on the boy's shoulder.

"I'm just Max...I'm just...there's nothing special...I don't want to...you're telling me mom died because...she got killed because of me... _because of me_?"

"No, Mighty One," Jonayayin said firmly, and his tone and his words were enough to break through the boy's mounting hysteria. "Your honored mother gave her life to save you. The fault lies not with you, but with the evils that hunt you."

"He's right," Norman said softly. "It's not your fault."

Max took a couple of deep breaths. "What if you're wrong?" he demanded, eyes roving over the table. "What if I'm _not_ this Chosen One?"

"You _are_ the Chosen One," Beowulf said staunchly. "None other could have entered The Dawning as you did and survived. None other would know the Guardian by instinct."

"Also, more generally," Hanuman put in, "only the Chosen One has the ability to break enchantments like you do. When you're older, you'll be able to do a lot more. You'll even be able to break something like the pact that held Norman as a slave to Skullmaster someday. It's part of your destiny, Mighty One."

Norman tipped his head. "Mighty One?"

"It is his honorable title, just as you are the Guardian. It is a term of respect and office such as Queen or King applies to them," he waved a hand that they could see was feathered when not hidden behind the heavy robes. "He is Mighty, Norman."

"I know _that_ already," Norman replied a little testily.

Max was masterfully pulling his feelings under control and looked around the table. "So what's this evil I'm supposed to fight? Or is that something else that isn't supposed to happen yet?"

"A wise question, young Mighty One," Mujaji said. "In fact, there are many evils that only you can vanquish. You have already met the first of them, however."

Norman's rage flooded him with the speed of a tidal wave. " _Skullmaster_."

"Yes," Virgil nodded. "Skullmaster came to Intuition because he knows of the destiny of the Mighty One. He hoped to identify him and eliminate him as a threat before we could put him under the protection of the Guardian and set him on the path of his destiny."

"Couldn't you have just _not_ invited him?" Max asked with an annoyed look. "Would have been easier on everybody, I bet."

"No," Jonayayin shook his head. "Better to have the snake out in the open than lost in the grass where you will not see its strike."

"Besides," Hanuman added, "if Skullmaster hadn't come, neither would have Norman."

"I guess that's true," Max nodded. Then he let out a breath. "Okay. Let me get this straight. I'm some sort of hero destined to fight evil somehow and that's why...my mom died and everything. And you held The Dawning to find Norman so he can be the Guardian and help me. And the reason nobody told me that I was this Mighty One was that you didn't want the bad guys figuring it out and coming after me before Norman was around to protect me."

"Also to give you at least something of a normal life," Virgil added. "If fate had allowed it, we would have waited until you reached proper manhood before we hung the balance of the world across your shoulders."

"And I appreciate that, really," Max looked at him. "But...well, what am I supposed to do now? Head out on some crazy journey?"

"Not necessarily," Hanuman said. "Just because you know who you are doesn't mean you have to jump right into world-saving. You're still a kid. We can't let anything happen to you, but you have some time before the world will really need you."

"Time to learn more about your legacy and your powers," Jonayayin said. "Time to prepare yourself."

"And time for your Guardian to improve as well, if not in body, then in mind," Beowulf said, his eyes landing on Norman. "Even the finest warrior can be undone with hatred in his heart."

"But whatever you choose, from this day forth, I shall be with you to guide and serve you," Virgil said, ducking his head in the only show of obeisance Max had ever seen from him in spite of the presence of four monarchs. "Technically, as the Mighty One of Lemurian prophecy, you are the heir to the Lemurian nation and, in one sense, a prince. But, believe me, Mighty One, that is not saying a great deal, unfortunately. I will take you to Lemuria if you wish to see it, but I assure you, there is nothing left there for either of us."

"It's Virgil's duty to guide you on your destined path, and you would do well to heed his advice," Mujaji said. "He has been waiting for you for well over five thousand years."

Then her eyes moved to Norman. "And you, as the proper Guardian for the Mighty One and also the champion of The Dawning have earned the right to inherit my Dominion. Which is to say, I relinquish my protection of the Mighty One to you, Guardian. Defend him well."

Norman looked down at the boy beside him. Max was clearly more than a little frightened at the unexpected turn the morning had taken, and it was only the shade of relief in his eyes that Norman would be with him that kept him grounded. Norman supposed that must work both ways, for he would never have been content serving as Guardian for any other but Max. Somehow, he had belonged to Max since the day they met, and Max was his.

_This must be what they mean by destiny,_ he thought.

Perhaps Norman had some say in the matter over whether or not to become Guardian to the boy, but in every way that mattered, he had no option but one and wanted no other.

"I accept this Dominion as Guardian to the Chosen One," Norman intoned, giving his vow not to Mujaji, but to Max himself. "My life is yours, Mighty Max, now and forever."

"As long as I've got you to back me up, Normie, I think I'll be okay," Max said, smiling weakly but gratefully at his friend.

"You won't be alone, young Mighty One," Beowulf said. "All of us shall join you if you but call upon us. We are yours to command."

"Except me," Hanuman put in with a roguish grin. " _Nobody_ commands me."

"That's the Powers' own truth," Virgil muttered just loud enough for Max to hear. Max stifled a surprised snort.

"It's okay," Max said. "You already did your part. You saved me once and...you gave me a mom." He dropped his eyes and said softly. "You're sort of the first family I ever had, I guess."

Suddenly Beowulf laughed, his big chest bouncing. "He is your Uncle Monkey for certain, Mighty One!"

"Oh, you are gonna pay for that, Beowulf," Hanuman threatened as everyone else laughed or at least smiled. Even the severe Jonayayin and dignified Mujaji were openly amused.

This led into a verbal sparring match between Hanuman and Beowulf, who was not as unarmed in the arts of repartee as he pretended to be. Though he did occasionally punctuate his own jibes by tossing napkins or bits of food at his opponent. Hanuman caught all of them handily and built them into a strange sort of display upon his plate, eventually moving to actually sit on the table itself where he could better intercept Beowulf's attacks.

As the atmosphere relaxed, Max found himself chiming in a bit, even earning a roll tossed his way by the northern king.

Norman caught Virgil, Jonayayin, and Mujaji exchanging knowing looks and understood. Such foolishness was deliberate, intended to soften the weighty truths heaped upon the boy. His heart warmed with gratitude for the kindness and he ducked his head to them when he could intercept their eyes.

When at last Beowulf ran out of reasonable ammunition (porridge being an unreasonable thing to throw across the chamber, as Mujaji told him quite firmly), Virgil rose from the table.

"If we are...finished here," he looked at the rather messy table with a raised feathered eyebrow, "there is one last formality we must see to."

Max, who had been lounging and grinning, tensed a little, but with a glance to those around him, remained largely composed. "What's that, Virg?"

Virgil smiled at the nickname that meant the boy had begun to accept him. "Your destiny is your own, Mighty One, and nothing we do or fail to do will ever change it. However, there is something you should be given, and it deserves a moment of ceremony."

At Max's doubtful expression, Hanuman leaned across the table and put a paw on his shoulder. "Don't worry, kiddo. It's a private ceremony. Just us. We're not announcing your identity to the world. That would be pretty stupid after everything we went through to keep you secret. We leave idiotic moves like that to the bad guys."

Max nodded and found himself able to smile again. "Okay. Let's do it."

Virgil led the way from the room and through several hallways until he reached a heavy wooden door down a narrow corridor. "This is my study, Mighty One. I hope you might join me here sometimes for instruction."

The room beyond the door reminded Max so fiercely of his mother he felt tears spring to his eyes.

It was a huge chamber lined with shelves that ran to the ceiling higher than the roof of the two-story home he had been sharing with Bea and Felix and their mother for the last few months. Stacked on every shelf were bound tomes and scrolls, all carefully arranged, not a page or parchment out of place. Under the broad window that faced the back gardens was a huge writing desk with a tall chair, and it was covered with ink and quills and many sheets covered with what must be Virgil's precise handwriting. In an alcove to one side was a low bed. But every other inch of the room was dedicated to the arts of study and scribe.

"Cozy," he said after getting his breath back. He didn't notice Mujaji and Hanuman exchange glances, both having known his mother quite well before her death. But they respected Max's privacy and courage and said nothing.

"Stand there, if you would please, Mighty One," Virgil gestured.

Max realized that the floor of the chamber was inscribed with the patterns of the night sky, stars and the moon and the constellations and patterns they formed spiraling across the stones. The place Virgil indicated was in the center of the mosaic, on top of a grand, golden picture of the sun.

As Max took his place, the others moved as well. Mujaji remained nearest the door in the south. Beowulf crossed the image and planted himself by the northern edge. Hanuman leaned against Virgil's desk by the window to the east. Jonayayin moved silently to the western edge of the design. Norman did not need anyone to tell him that his place was at Max's side and slightly behind him, so he placed himself above the constellation of the Star Hunter. Virgil appeared with a box in his feathered hands and strode with some dignity to stand before Max.

"Every person has a gift and in their gift lies their destiny," Virgil said, meeting the boy's eyes. "You, Mighty Max, are a hero, the destined Heir of Lemuria, and you have been chosen to protect the world from evil. We can do nothing to abridge that destiny, for it lies in the Powers themselves and in your own hands. But as such, you have been gifted an item of great magic to help you on your journey."

Virgil opened the box. Lying within was a strangely simple scarlet cap with golden threads twining a pattern.

"This is the last Cosmic Cap, Mighty One, a legacy of the Powers own time on earth. It will not give you anything you do not already possess, but it will make the path easier to tread for it opens the secret passageways of magic to you for your use." He smiled slightly. "Do not fear - I will teach them to you.

"Will you accept this burden of destiny, this place in the world, and this Cap to lead you to victory, Mighty Max, Chosen One of Lemuria?"

Max took a deep breath. "Yes. I will."

Virgil set the box down and lifted the Cap. "Well done, Mighty One. May the Powers watch over you." And he settled the Cap on Max's head.

The instant the scarlet Cap touched Max, the very moment its weight transferred from Virgil to Max, Max's whole body seemed to be on fire. An energy unlike any he had ever imagined before rushed through him. He thought he might be glowing. There was a crackle of power in the air and the room was suddenly filled with wind and light and motion.

Just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.

"You are truly the Mighty One," Virgil said. "And the Cap has accepted you as its Bearer. Now, with myself and your Guardian, your journey can truly begin."

Then Virgil looked past Max to Norman. "Guardian, you have already sworn your oath, but I ask you to repeat it here in the presence of the Cap-Bearer and the four heroes who will witness it. I must do the same."

Max turned as Virgil moved to Norman's side where he and Norman dropped to one knee. Norman drew his father's sword - his sword - from its place on his back and held it out to Max with the point hovering before his own heart. When Max gripped the blue bindings, the sword seemed to hum.

"If the Mighty One deems me worthy, than I accept my place as his Guardian for all time," Norman said softly. "I will defend him and battle for him for all my days."

When he looked into his boy's eyes as he spoke, he saw a rush of friendship and trust and hope that matched his own. Both Norman and Max had been alone for so long in their own ways. And now Norman noticed that Virgil's own eyes swam with the same feelings; Virgil must have been just as alone, and for thousands of years.

"If the Mighty One will accept me, I hereby pledge myself to his service," Virgil said quietly. "I will follow and serve him loyally in the name of Lemuria and the Powers and never turn from him and his will. My life is yours to take as you wish."

Max swallowed against a lump in his throat. The heavy sword he held wobbled slightly, but he managed to rest it on Norman's shoulder.

"I accept your oath as Guardian, Norman."

Then he transferred the sword to Virgil's shoulder.

"I accept your oath, too, Virgil. Under one condition."

Virgil looked up, surprised.

"I may be the Mighty One, but you're not a servant and your life isn't something you can just let me take. I want you as a guide and teacher, sure. But more than that, I want you as a friend." He took a breath, suddenly nervous. "Is that okay?"

Virgil smiled warmly. "If that is your will, Mighty One."

"It's more than that," Max looked at the two of them. "That's my destiny. Our destiny."

Around them, four voices spoke together. "We witness these oaths of fealty and loyalty. May the Powers watch over you and guide you and keep you strong in the service of our world."

Norman and Virgil rose - the latter getting a hand from Max when Norman took back his sword - and they smiled at one another.

"So now what?" Hanuman asked with an impudent, shrewd smirk.

Max looked across to him and grinned, feeling Virgil and Norman slide into place on either side of himself and realizing he had never in his life felt as safe and as whole as he did in that instant.

"Well, you said that Skullmaster is one of the evils I have to fight?" Max asked.

"Yes," Jonayayin nodded. "He will undoubtedly be nearby waiting to learn if we have discovered the identity of the Chosen One. That was his purpose in attending The Dawning. Once he realizes who you are, you will be in grave danger."

"For that reason, we must remove him from my city and my Lands as quickly as possible," Mujaji said, eyes snapping.

"Yeah, I figured," Max nodded. But he looked to Norman with a bright gleam in his eyes. "Hey, Normie?"

"Yes, Mighty One?" Norman asked, feeling his own heart rising.

"How'd you like to go help me kick Skullmaster out of Intuition?"

Norman smiled ferally. "It would be my pleasure, Mighty One."

"You're going to go after him now? Not wait until you are older to face him?" Beowulf asked with a raised eyebrow.

Max shrugged. "Hey, no time like the present. And, trust me, that guy's got it coming to him sooner rather than later. Even if I can't take him down today, I can at least get him out of the city."

"I couldn't agree more, Mighty One," Mujaji said firmly. "Lead on."

"We will accompany you," Jonayayin said. "Skullmaster is a dangerous adversary."

"Yeah. Sounds like fun!" Hanuman shook out his hands in anticipation. "I can't wait to get out there and start all new rumors about the mysterious monkey warrior."

Virgil shook his head. "You're just tired of those robes you use to conceal your identity."

"Of course I am! But they're kind of a moot point anyway since he," he pointed at Max, "knows who I am now."

"True."

As the four monarchs left the room ahead and began calling out to their warriors to assemble, Max hung back.

"He hid his identity for that long...for me? You both did?" he looked wonderingly at Virgil.

"Yes, we did," Virgil nodded. "Hanuman suspected you would remember him from rescuing you as a child. Had rumors of a monkey man reached you, you might have followed them to try to learn about your past, potentially exposing your destiny to your enemies. And had anyone seen a Lemurian lurking around you for the last several years, they may have uncovered your true identity as well. Such a disguise was necessary to protect you, Mighty One."

"Wow. You really...you've been watching out for me all this time."

"And ever shall," Virgil assured him. "As will your Guardian." He looked up at Norman. "I know your life has been a great hardship, but I believe in the end it will serve you well. It has honed you and prepared you for danger above and beyond what any other warrior in the Seven Lands would be capable of enduring."

"Is that what they mean by destiny?" Norman asked.

"Yes," Virgil nodded.

"Norman," Max hesitated. When the much larger man looked down at him, the boy sighed. "I'm sorry. In a weird sort of way, that makes it my fault that everything happened to you. If you hadn't been my Guardian, maybe you never would have had to be a slave at all."

"Don't be sorry, Mighty One," Norman said gently. "I'm not."

"You're not?"

"No," Norman smiled. "I have the freedom I always sought and the chance to avenge my father's death. And, more importantly, I have reason to live and someone worth protecting at my side."

He enfolded Max's shoulders in a tight, warm grip.

"It's worth it. It's all worth it for this, Little One. Believe that. I do."

Max searched Norman's face with his guileless blue eyes until he found the sincerity Norman hoped he would see. Then his own young face transformed and he grinned brightly.

"Okay then! Well, let's get going and start in on that payback you owe Skullmaster!"

"Life with you is not going to be boring, is it, Mighty One?" Virgil asked as he fell in with them.

"I don't think so," Max shook his head. "I'm not going to try to win all the fights right away, but we're going to start doing some good as soon as we can. And when I'm ready, we'll really take it to Skullmaster and everything like him until the world is completely safe. That is my destiny."

Virgil smiled. "As you wish, Mighty One."

Norman did not speak, but his heart was full and light. And as he followed his boy, his Mighty One, out into the palace to assemble with the other warriors and prepare for a long-overdue assault against Skullmaster, Norman knew he was exactly where he belonged. What he had said was entirely true and correct - it had all been worth it. For this fate was all he could wish for himself and more.

Norman didn't need Virgil's prophecy to know that the path before him would be dangerous and exciting and honorable and just. And as he stepped out upon it, he knew with a conviction that warmed him down to his soul that he and his Mighty One along with Virgil were all going to change the world together for the better.

And so they did.


End file.
